I, Sirius
by LadySirius32158
Summary: This is the story of Sirius Black  from birth to.... what?  An epic in the making.
1. A Star is Born

TITLE: I, Sirius

AUTHOR: Lady Sirius

PAIRING: RL/SB

RATING: NC17

FEEDBACK: Of course all rights to Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling

- I only wish that Sirius and Remus were mine, other than in my heart!

DEDICATION: To my glorious, talented, wondrous and everlastingly sexy

inspiration - Gary Oldman - and to all those fans whose enthusiasm and kind words keep me going!

I, Sirius

Reflections of the Brightest Star

Chapter I - A Star Is Born

A blank page.

A sheet of emptiness, devoid of any meaning of its own. But take quill in hand - along with a requisite amount of ink - and you have the possibility of something, rather than nothing. Letters of the alphabet, chosen at random - taken individually just so many sounds, casual phonetics. But if you put them together in certain ways patterns form, words can be discerned, and from these words emerge thoughts.

These, then, are my thoughts.

And whether anyone who reads my words - assuming, of course that there are any such unknown, unseen readers - will form any idea of who I am, what I was, and what has befallen me within the arena of what I refer to as my life, at least up until this day... well, I shall leave that to the individual to determine. I can only do what I can do. I am, after all, only human.

And wizard.

Always wizard.

Which is as good a point as any to begin. I, Sirius Orion Black, came into this world, the wizarding world to be exact, at precisely six a.m. on Saturday, March 21, 1959, at #12 Grimmauld Place, London, England. My mother, Walburga, had a schedule to keep, and even the act of giving birth to me could not deter her from her appointed rounds, while my father, Orion, awaited the news of my birth while comfortably ensconced with his cronies/hangers-on, in the downstairs parlor.

And once I made my appearance - mouth wide open and squalling, so they tell me, I was whisked at once from my parents' bedroom on the fourth floor, and brought to my own room, two floors below, where a wet nurse awaited, who had of course been hired for the occasion as Merlin forbid Walburga suckle her own child herself, and never did I see that room again. At least not for many years.

But that wasn't the only reason I was so quickly separated from the giver of my life - so callously cast aside as it were, until needed. Was I not the heir apparent, the hope and scion of the noble House of Black - they whose motto was Toujours Pur? Firstborn, eldest son, newest twig on the family tree? Did someone there possess the prescience, the clairvoyance, to sense the disappointment which ran within my veins as surely as did the blue albeit thinning blood of one of the oldest families in the wizarding world? Did the midwife who pulled me from my mother's body, to rid it of the burden of my presence, look into my eyes (once I had dared to open them, of course, not into a world of light, as one would imagine, but into a place of great darkness) and declare now is born a heretic, a disappointment, a future escutcheon on the name of Black, a blight upon this noble house?

No, of course not. That would be foreshadowing of a sort bordering on divination, and I DO NOT believe in Divination, no matter what my crackpot teachers attempted to instill in me otherwise.

But that was later, and this was then, and the truth of the matter was that I was born with a caul. Although the midwife did later swear that she caught a glimpse of a tail between my legs, giving rise to much speculation which, had they simply asked me, I could have easily dispelled. No tail, no canine foreshadowing - sorry to disappoint. Merely that which any male infant is allotted at birth - no more, no less. But the caul put them off, gave them pause, took them aback. And caused them to look at me askance, even then. A pattern often to be repeated throughout the years.

It was just the beginning of a life filled with indifference. And that I believe to be a sufficient introduction, for now.

Simply remember that I...am... Sirius...


	2. Star Relativity

TITLE: I, Sirius

AUTHOR: Lady Sirius

PAIRING: RL/SB

RATING: NC17

FEEDBACK: Of course all rights to Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling

- I only wish that Sirius and Remus were mine, other than in my heart!

DEDICATION: To my glorious, talented, wondrous and everlastingly sexy

inspiration - Gary Oldman - and to all those fans whose enthusiasm and kind words keep me going!

I, Sirius

Reflections of the Brightest Star

Chapter II - Star Relativity

I think that those people who are able to tell you every last bloody detail of their first few years of life, down to getting their nappy changed, and taking breakfast at their mother's breast, are simply full of shite, cause it doesn't work that way. Siriusly. Especially the first couple of years fresh from the womb when you don't even have words to understand what is going on about you, much less impress it upon your memory, when the best you can hope for is that visual images are retained there, and even those don't last, overwritten by newer memories as time goes on. Not that I was receiving sustenance at my mother's breast, mind you, that was just an example, a metaphor of what could have, should have, might have been. I admit it - I do not remember those first few years of life, what little I know of what was happening at that time comes from other sources - the family tree, family portraits, family photographs, family history and the like, even old newspaper clippings - and the most important source of all, my nanny.

Is it so surprising to discover that I had a nanny? What, you thought Walburga might tend to her own? Ha! You got another think coming then. Cause that never happened. I was left from day one in the care of my wet nurse who over time became my nanny, and although I knew that she was not my mother, biologically anyway, she was the one I turned to for all of my daily needs, both physical and emotional, for going to Walburga was as useless as putting tits on a chicken. Surprisingly, my nanny was a house elf. Surprising considering how the Blacks treated their house elves and why would they entrust their firstborn son to one of them, unsurprisingly as they had total control over all of them and could count on them to do just as they wished. Or so they thought. More on that later. I mispronounced my nanny's name from the time that I first began to lisp it, but the error stuck, as mistakes often do - Numa she became to me, and Numa she stayed for all the days of her life - well, all that concerned me, anyway. All I know was that she was there when I needed her, something my parents never were.

I was the first male born into my generation, something which doubtless brought Walburga great joy, as well as something she could lord over her younger brother Cygnus for years to come - he who had married Druella Rosier and only managed to derive three children, all of the female persuasion, from the union - my cousins Bellatrix, Narcissa and Andromeda. At the time of my birth, Bellatrix was about eight, Andromeda six and Narcissa maybe four. More about them later, as of course my memories of them do not begin then. But knowing my mother, she probably rubbed her fait accompli into my uncle's face every opportunity she received. Which was often, apparently, according to Numa - the Blacks being frequent visitors at one another's homes in those years. And imagine Walburga's great delight when on April 6, 1961, she was delivered of a second son, my brother Regulus Arcturus Black. Take them apples, Cygnus! Whaddya have to say about that, eh? And then, satisfied with what she had wrought, she decided to rest upon her laurels, and never entertained the idea of pregnancy ever again. Did Orion place no objections, give out with a quick hold on there, don't I have a sayso in this sort of thing? To ask that is to admit you know nothing of my father, for from the day she stepped over the threshold of #12 Grimmauld (rumour has it _she_ carried _him_, but I can neither confirm nor deny that), my mother ruled the roost with the proverbial iron fist, sans velvet glove. My father, Casper Q. Milquetoast the pacifist, was content to stay in the background, following his own pursuits, and acquiescing to Walburga's demands in order to achieve peace within the home (relatively speaking, that is, for when my mother got up a full head of steam, she could peel the wallpaper with her voice alone). Have you ever seen one of those devices that muggles have for their automobiles - they put them up front, perhaps to worship as they drive - little statues of dogs in particular, with heads that bob up and down, up and down, agreeably? Picture that (other than the canine factor) and you have a good idea of Orion Black - bobblehead extraordinaire. Perhaps someday they'll invent a spinal transplant - but, of course, it is many years too late for him to benefit from any such scientific advance.

Well, what sort of baby was I, you ask? I dunno. According to Numa I was perfect, never fussed nor complained, nor made unnecessary messes - emphasis on the unnecessary as even the best bairn will have sloppy tendencies, of course. But if you ask my mother (assuming you could ask her, in order to do that, you would have to query her portrait, but let's not go there at the moment) she would tell you I was a spoiled, loud, demanding brat. The truth, as it invariably does, probably lies somewhere in between. In other words, I was probably a normal infant.

The pictures from that time show me to be as having rather large eyes of the darkest blue, which I still possess, pale skin, blissfully unblemished by future foul tattoos, and a full head of dark hair. Aristocratically small feet and slightly bowed legs. I suppose I should be grateful that I was neither born Chinese nor female - have you ever seen photos of those poor women who had their feet bound, who were forced to endure such unbearable torture both for aesthetic reasons and for the purpose of hobbling them - both physically and spiritually? It's really rather gruesome, the things that people inflict upon one another.

There is one early photograph in particular that gives me pause - in it, I am being held by Bellatrix and she apparently has found it amusing to suspend me by my feet, allowing my poor body to dangle helplessly in midair, which of course produced frantic cries on my part, until Numa was able to rescue me from her grasp. Talk about your Kodak moments.

When I was maybe a year and half old or so, apparently there was some sort of family get-together at Grimmauld and while the adults talked/gossiped/pontificated or whatever they did amongst themselves, the children were left to their own devices. Bellatrix and her then little buddy, later husband, Rodolphus Lestrange (yes, even at this early age, they were monsters) apparently dragged me and Andromeda out to the back yard under the guise of "playing with us", tied us to trees, and proceeded to conduct sundry experiments upon us. They smeared our poor bodies with various foodstuffs to see what sort of insects and/or animal life would be attracted to us, presumably wishing to see us both eaten. Such a charming couple. Apparently, in the course of this "game", Bellatrix had the misfortune to put her finger inside my mouth, the natural result being that I inadvertently bit her. In later years she claimed that it was a vicious act upon my part, but I hardly think that possible at such a tender age, and Narcissa herself let slip the story of the attempted torture by her sister and her future husband as well as the biting of the injured digit, claiming that I actually made a horrible face once I had released it, apparently not finding it to my taste. ( Cissa was actually often nice to me, when no one else was around to observe it, and she and Andromeda were close for a very long time before life intervened.)

In case you are wondering what the results of that experiment may have been, and whether the hapless Andromeda and I were attacked by nasty beasties or not, I am happy to report that we were set free by Numa before anything untoward occurred. End of that particular story.

Just a few months after that incident, though, my life was greatly rocked by a new arrival at #12 Grimmauld Place.

Cue Regulus.


	3. Brotherly Love

TITLE: I, Sirius

AUTHOR: Lady Sirius

PAIRING: RL/SB

RATING: NC17

FEEDBACK: Of course all rights to Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling

- I only wish that Sirius and Remus were mine, other than in my heart!

DEDICATION: To my glorious, talented, wondrous and everlastingly sexy

inspiration - Gary Oldman - and to all those fans whose enthusiasm and kind words keep me going!

I, Sirius

Reflections of the Brightest Star

Chapter III - Brotherly Love

My first recollection of my brother was of a tiny swathed bundle of mystery which was ceremoniously carried into my bedroom early one morning - at that time I was blissfully unaware of dates, but of course it must have been the day of Reg's birth, April 6, 1961 - and laid into a waiting cradle which had magically appeared there sometime during the night, apparently, as I'd been completely unaware of its presence when I had retired the previous evening. Numa woke me from my innocent slumbers; taking me by the hand she walked me up to the sleeping newborn, introducing me to my newly arrived brother. "This is Regulus," she later recounted the story to us both, "you must always watch over him, Sirius." "Yesh, Numa," I dutifully lisped, and from that day forward I became the protector and guardian of one Regulus Arcturus Black.

I have some early photographs which somehow survived the purging of the family records, unlike the family tree which was cleansed of my name once I left home, (and what good company I keep in that regard, for Uncle Alphard is missing too, and Andromeda, as well as Nymphadora, and a few others), but that was years after the time of which I now relate, and better left alone for now. The pictures show me cradling Regulus, softly kissing his noble brow, and smiling. Yes, smiling. A tender moment trapped in time.

My actual awareness of myself and my environment begins to come into focus about the time that I was five or six, I think. Odd snatches of memory, some clearer than others. Bits and pieces, some of which made no sense at the time but seen with the advantage of age and maturation take on an astounding clarity. The other pureblood families whose faces swim before me in mind-numbing similarity, and were only sorted out later as I learned who they were - the Malfoys, the Lestranges, the Crouches, the Potters, the Rosiers, the Wilkes, the Prewetts. It seemed as though the ones I liked didn't last long, became simply faded memories, so I learned early to be careful of my feelings, learned that dissembling was self-protection. I actually met James when I was maybe six or seven, but the Potters must not have have cut the mustard, so to speak, because although we got along swimmingly, I didn't see him again until I was eleven, and entering Hogwarts, and by then I had actually all but forgotten our first encounter. But if I remember correctly, we hid ourselves in the backyard, climbing up into one of the gnarled misshapen trees, defying all efforts by my cousins to find us - no doubt for purposes of torture - and in the process discovered that we were indeed kindred souls. Not to mention relatives. But then I think every one of the bluebloods is related in some misbegotten incestual way.

James. Lily. If only... So many if onlys... Knowledge gained which had it been obtained earlier could have been put to such good use. But alas, that can be said of so many things, and what good does it do to regret, regrets are only the stepping stones to heartache, after all, and only lead to madness brought about by the inability to change what was. But one of my biggest regrets has to be the horrible sacrifice which was made, the complete and total waste of two precious lives, lost far too young... far too young. And in those moments when I ponder their fate, rail against the powers that be that chose this particular path for two people who did not deserve to be treated in this way, I cannot help but stop and think about the ones that managed to live to a ripe old age that certainly did not deserve to do so, and if I sound bitter because of it, that is because I am. But with just cause.

Stop it, Sirius, just stop it. Now. There are those who say that I have already wandered too close to the edge of madness, while others insist that I have long ago crossed that particular line. No reason to add fuel to the fire, now is there? So simply cease and desist...

Regulus. My brother. Keeper of my secrets and bearer of my confidences. He was my responsibility, he was my charge, and I discharged my duty toward him most honorably on a regular basis. We shared a room from the time of his birth until I turned eleven - to be precise, until I left for Hogwarts. By the time that I had returned to Grimmauld for first hols he had already moved out of our room and into one of his own, and there was the beginning of an estrangement between us, a rift which was never completely healed. But when we were younger, we were inseparable.

Growing up, Regulus was my shadow. He was a little me, following me about, mimicking my every action, watching me closely with his large expressive eyes, blue like my own, which must have galled my mother very much. Even then, as young as I was, I sensed a disparity between her treatment of my brother and that of myself, though I probably would have been hard pressed to put a finger upon it at that time. And although Numa ostensibly was nanny to us both, Walburga actually mothered her younger son, to a degree that I was not aware she was capable of, having evidenced none of it myself. When we would be called to their presence to account for ourselves, my parents that is, I felt as if I were simply tolerated, while Regulus was... loved. Assuming they truly understood the meaning of the word. I have my doubts.

What of my father? Was he as blatant as his wife, did he disdain me as well, or did he attempt to compensate for her coldness by enveloping me in the warmth of his paternal affection? Alas, my father merely existed. He spent little time at home, preferring the company of his friends and associates, and chose not to interfere in the running of the household, nor the raising of the children. Father by proxy. It was easier to give in than to take a stand. And truth be told I never knew what stand he might make, were he to choose to do so.

Perhaps if we hadn't become estranged, my brother and I ... perhaps if he hadn't turned away from me, or me from him, depending upon one's point of view. Could I have saved him somehow? Would I have been able to see the direction in which he was being led, intervened for his own good, led him back toward the light? So many questions, no good answers, too many regrets.

I should have known. I really should have, if I question my own conscience closely. I mean after all, they approached me didn't they, me whom they did not even truly care about, attempted to force me to follow that bastard. I knew even then, even as a wet-behind-the-ears teenager, that I wanted no part of him, of them, of their crazy ideology. So why would it be so surprising that they not only selected my brother for their crazy schemes but that they actually succeeded in impressing him into their cause? He was never as strong-willed as I was, my Regulus... he only wished to be accepted... to be loved...

Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. To some extent I have to accept the blame for what happened, I can't absolve myself of the guilt, the self-abhorrence, no matter how much or how often I speculate on what might have been. Regulus, truth be told, I failed you, in so many ways. Fucking hell. I have to set this aside for now. It's... overwhelming... the guilt... the shame... And no absolution in sight.


	4. A Lesson Learned

TITLE: I, Sirius

AUTHOR: Lady Sirius

PAIRING: RL/SB

RATING: NC17

FEEDBACK: Of course all rights to Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling

- I only wish that Sirius and Remus were mine, other than in my heart!

DEDICATION: To my glorious, talented, wondrous and everlastingly sexy

inspiration - Gary Oldman - and to all those fans whose enthusiasm and kind words keep me going!

I, Sirius

Reflections of the Brightest Star

Chapter IV - A Lesson Learned

"Sir-i-ussssssss! Sir-i- us!" The childish voice was becoming more and more demanding, and not only was it rising in volume and irritation quotient, but it was coming closer and closer, and I realized that it wouldn't be long before he found me, located me in my secret hiding place, that place where I felt safest in the world, away from them, away from everything. Just me. And Regulus, when I allowed him. Which normally I would not mind, but today I was afraid he would lead the others to me, and that simply would not do at all. Heaving a reluctant sigh, I gathered up my things, stuffing my paperback copy of King Arthur and his Knights into the pocket of my robe, my solitary bliss disturbed, at least for now, as I emerged from the shelter of the darkness which had hidden me. Someday, I vowed to myself, I would be able to practice the spells that would allow me to conceal myself better, and then there would be no such rude intrusion upon my privacy. But this was now and that was then, and there was nothing I could do about it but accept it. Tales of the Round Table, and of the great and powerful wizard Merlin would have to wait, at least for now.

I had no doubt, even at the age of nine, that I would be accepted into Hogwarts School of Wizardry when the time came, once I turned eleven. Just as I never doubted that Regulus would also do so, after me. Everyone in my family had done it, it was expected of us all. Standard behaviour. De rigeur, don't you know. I had never heard of a single Black attending any other school, and of course there were other schools, I'd heard of some of them, in other parts of the world. Durmstrang, and Beaux Batons, and a school whose name I forget in the Orient - Japanese, I believe.

"Here I am, Reg," I called out to my brother and was rewarded with his pleased smile, and the enthusiastic hug of a seven year old who still had a certain joi de vivre, and had yet to acquire the cynicism and overweening hubris which marked his later years.

"Aunt Walburga sent us to find you," came a voice from behind him, and I latently became aware of Narcissa's presence, as she approached us. Even at that age she had a certain quiet dignity which belied her years. For thirteen, she was poised and calm at all times - well, most times. I'd seen her get into scraps with Bella where the fur fairly flew between them. Frosty blonde, blue eyed, she was not the typical dark Black. At least not on the exterior. Inwardly, she was probably more like them than I cared to think about - which I realize now. But perhaps that came from years of association with Lucius Malfoy. Malfoy - the very name causes my lip to curl in disdain. Glad-hander, sycophant, toady - smarmy, self-absorbed git that he always was. Always will be. Lord Voldemort's lap dog. Just as Snivellus is his.

"Am I in trouble?" I asked warily, watching her eyes, rather than my brother's face, for I knew he would blurt out the truth if that were so, while Cissa was harder to read, so I had to be more careful of her.

"No, they're gathering everyone," she said evenly, "I believe they're about to make some kind of an announcement. Aunt Walburga sent Kreacher to the cellar for the good wine."

I breathed a little easier then. The mention of the wine told me this had nothing to do with me, they were merely trotting me out for show in front of the relatives, for whatever reason. Probably to uphold their status as good parents, staunch supporters of family values, pillars of the community? Yeah, right. They were fucking dark wizards, and just about as cruel as you can get. I had yet to realize, though, just how cruel that could be. Time would correct any such misapprehensions on my part, however.

As we spoke we began to meander back toward the house, as I could think of no easy way to get out of this. Narcissa and Regulus walked in single file ahead of me, Cissa first actually, my brother lingering behind, in order to keep me within earshot, I supposed. But I had nothing to say, and I couldn't work up any real enthusiasm about a familial announcement which surely did not concern me at all.

Just before we reached the dark and dismal house, I spied a stranger lurking in the doorway there. He was smoking a fag, his long frame seeming to fill the doorway as he blew lazy smoke rings into the air. The reason that I remember this is because I was greatly astonished to see such a sight - my mother was a stickler for not allowing smoking in _her_ house. Even my father dare not light up anything while on the premises; he would simply leave her to her own devices and do his own thing - as far from her as possible - which suited him quite well. So who dared to be so bloody impudent, I wondered? Who could have the desire to be lambasted by Walburga Black?

The stranger watched the three of us, carefully, as one by one we entered the house. I could hear the buzz of adult conversation emanating from the front parlor (yes, that same room in which my father awaited the news of my birth). Apparently he was no stranger to Cissa, for she gave him a curious look, and for a second I fancied that she dropped him a half-curtsey as she passed by, and I heard her greet him with, "H'lo, Lord Voldemort," and the man replied with, "Good evening, Miss Black." He even had the audacity to rumple Regulus' hair as he came abreast of him. My brother merely squirmed from beneath his hand, and hastened after our cousin, while the man then turned his eyes upon me.

I'll never forget those eyes, long as I live, for they were warm and cold at one and the same time, and I felt a distinct chill run up my spine when I felt his gaze. "Master Black," he greeted me, and I suppose I mumbled something in return, but I couldn't help a growing feeling of revulsion. If I knew then what I know now - alas, though, I did not, or so many things could have been prevented. But then again, it's easy to say that, for at that time, I knew nothing of magic to speak of, and would have been ill-equipped to go up against one of the strongest wizards of all times - perhaps _the_ strongest wizard - armed with nothing more than brash impudence. So it's probably just as well that I knew nothing then.

I edged my way around him, uncomfortably, putting him out of my mind, as I decided that I would simply skirt the whole thing and head toward my room. What did they really need me for, anyway? I might have made it, too, but at that moment that misbegotten Kreacher had the misfortune (my misfortune, anyway) to be approaching, carrying a bottle of wine in his hand, while behind him an under house elf carefully balanced glasses. He took one look at me, one foot upon the stairs, heading to freedom, and cried out, "Missus, Missus, young Massa Sirius is going to his room!" And he fixed me with such a look of triumph, a hellish look, knowing exactly what he had done in cutting off my avenue of escape. I was caught, and there was no help for it now, so I simply followed Reg and Cissa into the parlour, where my mother gave me a very scathing glance - nothing I wasn't used to - and I stood there, waiting to hear what the big deal was all about.

Which, as it turned out, was of little interest to me, of course. It was to announce the engagement of my cousin Bellatrix to one Rodolphus Lestrange. Hip hip hooray - not! If ever there was a couple that deserved one another, it was those two - they were blackbirds of a feather, one being creepier than the other. Him with those hooded eyes, and that perpetual sneer. Her with that cackling laugh and quick hand. She was bossy, cruel and dominating - he was weak, cruel and utterly whipped by her. She said jump, he asked how high. And from what I had heard, they both had a way with knives, and a proclivity toward carving up small animals. The thought of them makes me shudder. And as crazy as they both were back then, they only got worse... in Azkaban. But let's not go there, shall we?

After the adults had clinked their glasses together and drunk their toasts, and patted one another on the back over the "fine match" that had been made, and the strong union between the two families, the young'uns were sent off to the next room, as the mysterious Lord V struck a pose beside the fireplace (I suppose it was too much to hope he intended to floo away), cleared his throat, as if he intended to speak. I admit I wasn't listening to anything that he might have said, being totally disinterested at best, but duly allowed myself to be shepherded along with the others as to attempt to leave now would simply draw attention to myself and I would rather not do that. Perhaps I could slip away from there more easily, I decided. I was surprised that the recently engaged couple were going with us as well - I would have assumed their newly affianced condition would automatically raise them to adult status. But perhaps they had another agenda. Damn. That might make my exit more difficult.

Narcissa and Andromeda were oohing and aahing over Bellatrix's engagement ring. Personally, I thought it was ugly - large and tastelessly gaudy - so I paid it, and them, no attention. Rodolphus was standing there smirking, as if he had actually done something. We knew the whole thing had been arranged by their parents so I wondered where he got off claiming any credit for himself, the git. Was there even a proposal involved, or were they simply told this is what you're going to do? Of course, they did seem rather pleased about it, but then, they'd been best friends forever. Like I said, birds of a feather. Rodolphus' brother Rabastan, who was the same age as Reg, was trying to entice my brother into some sort of a game, I think it involved a small ball, I'm not sure. So I took up a position in a chair in the corner, pulled out my book and generally ignored everyone.

That is, until the bride-to-be deigned to notice me for whatever reason. I suspect it was pure shite evilness, myself. "Narcissa, maybe if you're lucky, our parents will make a match for you with dear cousin Sirius..." I could hear the sarcasm dripping from her voice. "Wouldn't that be lovely? You wouldn't have to change your name, just like Aunt Walburga."

Yes, my mother and my father were first cousins, both Blacks. Yes, we're the product of inbreeding. But most purebloods are. Siriusly, there are just so many families left, after all, and they keep diving into the pool... But it didn't mean I wanted to participate in this perverse genetic travesty. Not to mention, although I liked Narcissa, I was nine years old and I thought that girls for the most part were icky creatures. Especially Bellatrix.

But at the same time, I had a big mouth sometimes, and didn't know when to keep it shut. Like now.

"Better than marrying the likes of you," I muttered to myself. I say muttered, but apparently my voice was more audible to the rest of the room than I'd intended cause suddenly there was dead silence, other than a shocked gasp or two, and I raised my eyes to find Bella standing before my chair, flushed. And very displeased. Not that I actually cared, but maybe I should have.

She narrowed her eyes at me, as she said, "What did you say, Sirius?"

My first thought was to deny it all and make a quick exit, but apparently my ready wit took over, leaving my common sense far behind, as I replied, "Better off marrying Narcissa than you any day." Even as the words left my lips, I felt myself being lifted from my chair by Bella's stooge, aka Rodolphus, my arms bent painfully behind my back. I struggled against his grip, but in vain - he had the advantage of me both in years and in strength.

"Hex him, love," he encouraged her, as I attempted to kick him, crying out, "Let go of me, you stupid prick..."

Without warning I felt a sudden pressure in the middle of my face, and it took me a moment to realize that Bella had just punched me squarely in the nose. Narcissa and Andromeda both screamed, Reg looked like he wanted to cry, but Bella and Rodolphus, and even Rabastan, were all laughing. Blood streamed warmly from my nose, and how badly I wanted to hit her back now, even if I had been raised not to hit girls, told it was not the gentlemanly thing to do. At this moment, the farthest thought from my mind was being a gentleman. I wanted revenge - and I wanted it now.

"Fucking bitch," I spat at her, but it certainly didn't come out that way, luckily, as the adults made their appearance, probably brought by the sounds of the screaming, or maybe even the scent of blood. Bella never moved, her shrill laughter pouring over me like salt in a wound. But at least, I thought, she would be punished now for what she had done.

Little did I know.

The stronger known as Voldemort took Bella's hand in his own, stained as it was with _my_ blood, and using his own handkerchief gently wiped it off. I could see some sort of open admiration in his eyes, while my own parents, far from being upset at what had been done to their child seemed - disgusted? Cygnus, on the other hand, was chortling at his daughter's antics. "Walburga, are you raising a weakling or what?" to which her only reply was to glare at me.

What? I was the injured party here, why was I receiving such censure from someone who should have been tending to my wounds? And yet the only such attention was being lavished upon my attacker? I was sorely confused, as I glanced at the adults, who seemed more bemused than anything - while my parents seemed embarrassed. Over me!

Just then Numa bustled into the room, taking me easily in hand, as if she'd been called. "Come along Master Sirius," she said, dropping a quick curtsey to my parents. She pulled me from the room, and down to the kitchen, where she tenderly cleaned me up, and fixed my nose as well as she could (to this day, if you look carefully, it is not completely straight, a result of that encounter with my bitchy cousin), the whole time cooing to me and singing to me. She plied me with cake and honeyed tea and generally fussed over me, but there was only so much she could do about my injured psyche.

That's the day that I learned the difference between family and love...


	5. The End of the Innocence

TITLE: I, Sirius

AUTHOR: Lady Sirius

PAIRING: RL/SB

RATING: NC17

FEEDBACK: Of course all rights to Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling

- I only wish that Sirius and Remus were mine, other than in my heart!

DEDICATION: To my glorious, talented, wondrous and everlastingly sexy

inspiration - Gary Oldman - and to all those fans whose enthusiasm and kind words keep me going!

I, Sirius

Reflections of the Brightest Star

Chapter V - The End of the Innocence

It was about that time that I began to spend a great deal of my free time in the kitchen at Grimmauld, there among the house elves, while my brother was busy being treated as the favoured son. I felt safe there, relaxed even, and no one acted as if I were in the way. I knew for a fact that my mother never deigned to enter the kitchen - it was beneath her dignity. It was what they had house elves for, don't you know? I'm sure the woman never even boiled water in her life, nor touched a cooking utensil (except perhaps to hit someone with it). And the preparation of the meals was beneath her notice, other than making known her demands as to what was to be served. And the yelling, if everything was not to her satisfaction. She'd have burst a major artery, I think, if she knew I was hobnobbing with the hired help. Hmmm, perhaps I should have let her find out? No, best not, cause things never work out the way you wish them to. Not in real life. Maybe in fairy tales and children's books. Sorry, just being honest. Why will you call me a cynic? Sometimes Remus does, yes... and I've gotten off track, I see.

On reflection, she must have known I was there. She had her very own spy, Kreacher, didn't she, to observe my movements? I suspect that if he didn't inform her of this, it was due to Numa's influence, for although she was a gentle soul, I wouldn't care to be on the rough side of her tongue (and having said this, I have to think she actually held something over him, cause that creature was afraid of nothing or no one). At any rate. She watched over me, encouraged me - and thanks to her and the other elves, I actually learned to cook, because I observed them rather closely as they went about their tasks in the kitchen. Thanks to them, Remus and I eat rather well to this day, if I do say so myself, having become a rather good chef, and proud I am of it. And we ate well as we could when we were together in our flat. But that comes later. I'm getting ahead of myself. Again.

Looking back, it's so obvious to me now what I was blind to then - that Reg and I were beginning to grow apart. If I had only paid a little more attention to it then, but I was busy hiding away from them - from her, to be honest, my father was just never a part of the equation to begin with. And when push came to shove it was Walburga that held sway in that household, not Orion. I'm told I resemble him, other than my eyes. Perhaps that was part of what annoyed her. Course with our oh so intimate gene pool a certain familial resemblance was unavoidable, don't you think?

I spent less and less time outdoors in former childish pursuits and more and more time either in the kitchen or holed up in my room. It was still our room, at that point, but Reg apparently had his own life to live, and he wasn't the fixture in it that I was at times. I, on the other hand, had discovered the wonders that were contained within the family library, and would haul various volumes up to my room for private perusal. No, not pornographic novels (those were to come later). Actually, not novels at all, but tomes of a more serious nature - namely, magic, and especially those relating to the dark arts. What, you're surprised that my parents had such things in their library? After what I've told you about Voldemort - who by now was a regular visitor at #12 Grimmauld? Hello, this is the Blacks we are talking about here - one of the most notorious dark wizarding families ever. Every one of us, with one notable exception, were placed in the darkest house at Hogwarts - again, no coincidence.

And of course I had an innate interest in magic, and learning how to use it. I knew I that I possessed it. My abilities in that arena had been manifested at an early age, or so Numa told me. Once she even told me, quite in private of course, that my parents were afraid of my magic, that I might become stronger than them in it. But I put that down to her pride in me, and her desire to bolster my young ego. In light of later events, though, perhaps they saw something I did not see at the time. I don't pretend to be a wizard on the level of Dumbledore, or even Voldemort, by any means. But I am more than a match, I must admit, for most wizards. Including one Snivellus Snape, right bloody bastard that he is. Would that I had killed that git off in our youth, rather than... Hang on, let me pull myself together.

There. Always happens when I think about him. Luckily, that isn't very often. Before I quit that subject, though, let me just say I've never had any doubt he was not a pureblood, which in and of itself is not a condemnation of the man, obviously, for on the whole I've little use for them. But the fact that we were such a tight and inbred circle surely meant I'd have come across him somewhere in my youth, so that if he were, well, it would be just be surprising if he were. Impoverished pureblood? Maybe. But at least there was one good thing to be said for it - he's nowhere to be found on my family tree, which means we share no blood. Petty thought? Perhaps. James and I are distantly related somehow, I forget just how. I'd have to consult the tree. Luckily Remus is a happy halfblood, so our conjoining is not in any way incestuous. Nuff said about that then.

I turned eleven on March 21, 1970. I'll never forget that day. I'd been looking forward to it for a very long time. I knew, of course, that turning eleven meant that the following fall I was now eligible to be sent to Hogwarts, and how I sincerely yearned for that, for myriad reasons. It was almost a first coming of age, even before becoming a teenager or hitting puberty or any other such milestone. The owl from the school duly arrived, with my permission to enter the hallowed halls, and I was simply elated. I felt sure that there would be a grand celebration held that day at #12 Grimmauld Place, both to celebrate my birth and to celebrate my acceptance into the wizarding school.

That was my fantasy. Here was the reality.

I was called into my parents' presence, there in the front parlour. An expected event, after all. It's the room where they spent their time within Grimmauld, the room I did my best to avoid. I had been happily playing with Regulus. We'd had breakfast together - a rare treat indeed - and were assembling our mock wizarding armies for a mock wizard battle, practicing the names of the spells I had learned, although could not yet do, from the books I devoured, and which I had tried to teach to Reg, in the time that I was allotted. When I walked into the parlour, all I could see was Walburga, Orion seeming to recede into the very woodwork, blending in with the background veritably. Walburga and that damnable tapestry, there upon the wall. Hideous thing, really.

I should have been more suspicious, more aware that something was not right. I'd not seen Numa at all that day, which was in and of itself unusual. But I'd been too busy, too happy to be with my brother, to look a gift horse in the mouth. And I can be forgiven that, I think, considering my youth. I supposed she was waiting to give me my gift - she never forgot my birthday, nor Christmas, nor any other holiday - until after my parents had presented me with whatever they were to give. What that might be I could not imagine.

"Sirius," my mother greeted me in her usual inimitably uptight and cold manner (an outsider would have found it hard to believe we were actually more than passing strangers from her tone), "today you turn eleven. You've been accepted at Hogwarts (I could not keep from smiling at that, of course, my heart simply full to bursting with the excitement of going to school, as well as leaving this dreary place). Therefore it has been decided that, since you are no longer a child, you no longer need a nanny. From now on, you shall take care of yourself. Stay out of trouble, or you will learn the consequences of your actions, boy. You may go." And she waved a hand in dismissal, as if I were no better in her estimation than one of the house elves.

I stood there a moment in stunned disbelief. "W-what will Numa do?" I asked, giving her a confused look. "Will she work in the kitchen then?" That wouldn't be so bad, obviously. She'd still be there for me, and I did spend a lot of time there.

But that illusion was shattered a moment later. "No, she will not!" Walburga snapped. "She's gone. You don't need her, Sirius. Now, go... and send Regulus in to me..." She raised her head imperiously, fixing me with her dark eyes. We faced down one another for a whole ten seconds maybe, before she began to smile. I'll never forget that smile - the cruelty it held, and the distinct pleasure at the same time. I couldn't stare her down. Not then. I was far too young and inexperienced - and at that moment I hated her with a hatred that was so very physical. So I did what the young and the helpless do at times like these - I ran.

I ran to the kitchen - she wasn't there. I ran about the house, searching all the rooms, certain this was simply a joke on my mother's part, albeit one in very bad taste, and that Numa was hiding somewhere there (although if I'd been thinking more clearly, I'd have realized that she would never participated in such a thing). That hideous creature Kreacher was watching me, and smirking most openly, his grin matching that of his mistress to perfection. I paid him no need, made my way back to the kitchen again. The other house elves were sympathetic, but all they could tell me was that Numa had been given an item of clothing that morning and sent on her way.

Happy fucking birthday, Sirius.

I ran to my room and cried my eyes out. Cried until I threw up. Only later did I come to realize that Regulus had been in on it; he'd kept me distracted so I wouldn't notice her absence right away. And from that day on our estrangement was almost complete - the last step would be taken later, upon my entrance to Hogwarts.

At the age of eleven, I left my childhood behind, and decided that from then on I would be a man, and I wouldn't care about or need anyone ever again.

Of course that didn't last forever. Shush, Remus, I know you're reading over my shoulder. I can feel your hot breath on my neck, of course. But at that time it felt like I was totally alone in the world. What? Right now? Of course I'm not crying, don't be silly. Yes, love, I'm coming.

More later.


	6. New Beginnings, New Friends

TITLE: I, Sirius

AUTHOR: Lady Sirius

PAIRING: RL/SB

RATING: NC17

FEEDBACK: Of course all rights to Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling

- I only wish that Sirius and Remus were mine, other than in my heart!

DEDICATION: To my glorious, talented, wondrous and everlastingly sexy

inspiration - Gary Oldman - and to all those fans whose enthusiasm and kind words keep me going!

I, Sirius

Reflections of the Brightest Star

Chapter VI - New Beginnings, New Friends

Lest you think that I entered Hogwarts an ignorant unlettered savage, let me dispel that illusion right now. Regulus and I were tutored, starting from when I was about six or so. A succession of mealymouthed wizards, who cowered before my mother and were not exactly what I considered to be mines of information. There was a classroom set up on the third floor for our use, and to this very day I despise that room. I have never enjoyed being in it, not now any more than I did then. I suspect that Walburga gave each guardian of our education permission to do what was necessary to instill learning into our skulls (make that my skull, as I never saw my brother treated harshly, ever, unless that is simply the perspective of a child who refused to fit into their mold and cooperate in any way), although nothing nearly as harsh as that dealt out by my mother, later. Looking back, I concede that perhaps I was a bit... difficult. But I didn't see it that way at the time. I already knew how to read. Numa says that I taught myself to do so about the age of two; I cut my teeth on the books contained in the Black family library - no happy primers these about playful children and their frolicking pets, but rather volumes on the dark arts, the history of the Black family as well as the wizarding world, tomes on alchemy and magic, etc.

I admit that I was probably a handful at times. And together Reg and I were probably sheer hell. But such is the nature of children, isn't it? I do remember Nymphadora as a very young girl - she was mischievous, and I encouraged her to morph - yes, even at times when she was forbidden to. But it came naturally to her, and I never saw the harm in it. Alright, I was an indulgent cousin. But until Harry was born, she was the closest thing to a child of my own I'd ever had. And I spoiled her something fierce. Remus did too, whether he admits to it or not. We babysat for her every chance we got, more so once I had left home (more about that later), took her riding on my motorcycle, carefully sandwiched between myself and Remus. Sometimes what Andromeda didn't know didn't hurt her, you know?

At any rate, Reg and I went through a few tutors in our time. We would go out of our way to see how fast we could get rid of each one, for Walburga invariably picked the most disgusting, spineless, boring twits she could find - we kept records of each one's coming and going, trying to outdo ourselves with the rapidity of their leaving. I think the shortest length of stay was maybe an hour? And she was the simplest to get rid of, too - a well placed snake in her handbag and she was out the door as if we'd lit a rocket up her ass. Of course we got punished for that. But it was worth it. I knew she was a horror the moment she stepped foot in the door - she was clad in pink, for Merlin's sake. And she had the most annoying twittery laugh.

But this all stopped on my eleventh birthday. The same day I lost my nanny, I was told that as I was going to Hogwarts, I had no more need of a tutor. So Reg and I were separated even more, because he now spent his time alone with the latest offering - and this one was still there when I left for school, maybe he didn't want to play the game without my active participation? It probably wasn't the same, I imagine. But I found myself left to my own devices. So I honed my cooking skills. And I read. And I pondered on the injustices of the world (ie my life, of course) and prayed that going to Hogwarts would be a good thing. Anything that took me out of Grimmauld had to be good, right?

And now I come at last to what was to become the single most important day in my entire life. Not that I realized it then, of course. I was just eleven, how could I be expected to understand such things? I hoped it would be important, of course, it was the day I was to go to Hogwarts, that mecca of magic for all young wizards, that much aspired to place where theoretically all one's hopes and dreams could come true. Maybe I exaggerate just a little bit, but I was hoping for a great deal from the school - the chance to learn real magic, to fulfill myself as a wizard, hopefully to make friends, and perhaps to do something that would earn some sort of recognition from my family, while at the same time removing me from the orbit of their day to day existence.

August 31, 1970.

Little did I realize when I awoke that morning the true significance which that date was to attain. I was excited and nervous both. Butterflies claimed my stomach to the point where I simply could not eat, and I pushed aside any thought of doing so, rationalizing that I could always eat on the train. I'd heard that there was food attainable there, so that seemed reasonable.

No one was to go with me to the station. King's Cross isn't all that far from Grimmauld, only about a mile or so. Easily walked, especially by a young sturdy lad, such as I was. My trunk was packed and ready to go and I simply dragged it along on its wheels. I did not expect to be seen off by any member of my family, and thus was not disappointed when they did not appear. I had a feeling my brother was watching me, though, and when I turned back once toward the house, glancing up at his window, I thought I saw the curtain rustle, nothing more.

I had packed everything I thought I would need, reasoning that I could send for anything I'd forgotten, but I couldn't imagine what that might be. This is an adventure, I kept telling myself, an awfully big adventure. The adventure of a lifetime. In my pocket I carried the best wishes of the only family member who had thought to remember the occasion - a small silver coin engraved with the words good luck, sent to me by my Uncle Alphard, one of my mother's brothers, but a decent one. He had owled it to me the day before, so I wouldn't set off for school emptyhanded, nor completely forgotten by my family. I thought that was rather decent of him, and I occasionally put my hand into my pocket just to ascertain its presence, taking comfort in the feel of the cool metal against my fingers.

I had heard stories already about the school, so I did have some idea of what to expect. I knew that there were four Houses, and that all students were sorted on the first night into one of the houses, the house which you were sorted into being determined by what sort of person you were. Ravenclaw was for those who preferred books to life, Gryffindor was for simpletons who considered themselves to be brave, Hufflepuff was for the misfits who didn't belong anywhere else and the only house that was worth a damn was Slytherin, where the loyal and the courageous were sorted. At least that is what I was told. But then again, consider the source - this was coming from my delightful cousin Bella and her slimy husband Rodolphus.

Which reminds me, I have completely neglected to mention the wedding of the summer which, o joy of joys, was held at - can you guess? - #12 Grimmauld Place. Bellatrix Black and Rodolphus Lestrange were finally joined in unholy matrimony, for what that's worth, in the front parlour, family only (but with purebloods that covers a lot of territory, you know). And Him. The one and only Lord Voldemort. Let's hear it for Voldie, folks. The bastard. Acting as if he created the wizarding world himself, and was its one and only saviour. And the way they all fawned on him was sickening. The parlour was magically enlarged for the occasion, to hold all the guests, and to allow for dancing as well. What stands out in my mind most is watching Bella dance with him, and how everyone cozied up to him as if he were something special. That and I snuck my first taste of firewhiskey. Wine I was used to, but this was something completely different. Cissa and Reg and I got delightfully blitzed, and no one paid attention - and then I got my first kiss. And it was from Narcissa. I remember her giggling, and pulling me behind some statue or other and then she kissed me, plain and simple. Surprised, aren't you? Well, so was I, believe me. How did it feel, you ask? How do you think? It didn't. Feel, that is. Like anything. Which I put down to the fact that she was my cousin, after all, and I let it go at that, and I didn't really care, and I forgot about it for a long time afterwards. The bride and groom had left Hogwarts the year before, so at least I wasn't faced with running into them in the hallways, which I was grateful for. Andromeda was in her last year of school, being seventeen now, and Narcissa was fifteen and a fifth year. Both were in Slytherin, of course.

I had been told I'd be sorted into Slytherin, all the Blacks were, every generation, which didn't exactly fill me with great joy. I was sure that if the rest of the house were anything like Bella and Roddy, I'd be in trouble for sure. But it wasn't as if I would be given a choice in the matter, as it simply seemed destined to be, so what could I say? Que sera, sera. And maybe, just maybe things would turn out for the best. At least that's what I told myself when I reached the station. I already knew how to access Platform 9 3/4 - one advantage of having cousins that had already gone through the process - so I simply walked through the barrier and beheld the Hogwarts Express for the very first time.

The sight of that magnificent train, gleaming and shiny even in the midst of filthy London, was as a beacon to me, giving me hope for my future, that it might be a bright one. Maybe being a Slytherin wouldn't be so bad, right?

"Sirius! Sirius Black!"

I jerked my head around as I heard my name being called in a voice I did not recognize. A tousled head was sticking out of one of the train windows, and the face attached to it wore a mischievous grin. "Thought it was you," he added, as I began to scan my memory for some clue as to who this was.

And then it came to me, although of course he had changed in the few year's interim from when I had last seen him. James Potter. This wasn't so bad then, I thought, as a straw-colored head hove into view beside his, seeming to glance anxiously about as if he expected someone to yell at him for something. "James, I don't think we're allowed to do this..."

"Then don't, Pete," James said simply, winking at me. "Come on, we've got a car already snagged. Hoist that trunk and get a move on, why don't you mate?"

Why not indeed? I did just as he'd directed, for no other reason than I had nothing really better to do. Besides, I remembered that I'd liked him before, we'd gotten on well, so maybe I would have two ready made friends before we even reached the school. Hopefully we could all be sorted into Slytherin together.

I lugged my trunk onto the train, unsure once I was aboard just which direction they had hailed me from. But I was saved from being forced to randomly open doors along the corridor by James suddenly appearing , embracing me like a longlost friend. "Good to see you, mate," he cried, while the boy addressed as Pete hovered uncertainly in the doorway behind him. James couldn't help but notice the other boy's trepidation and he tried to reassure him. "Don't worry, they're cowards, they won't try to bully you again, especially now that Sirius is here." To my puzzled look, he added, "A couple of blokes were picking on Peter, I chased them off, no big deal."

Nothing fazed James Potter, he was always the confident one, the brash one, the undisputed leader - he could charm people and bend them to his will with just a smile or a few choice words - it was unbelievable. Amazing to watch even. He should never have been taken from us so soon. It wasn't right. But life doesn't always follow the rules, does it? Far from it. Far fucking from it. He should have lived to see his son grow up, maybe had other children, lived to rock his grandchildren in his arms, hear them call him granddad - he should have fucking lived.

James took my trunk and shoved it in the overhead compartment as we spilled into the car. Peter seemed to breathe a bit more easily once the door into the corridor was closed once more, as we settled ourselves for the ride to Hogwarts. "How's life at your house?" James asked sympathetically. I merely shrugged. Who wanted to talk about home? Surely not me.

"My parents were very excited that I got the invite to Hogwarts," he went on, "bet yours were too. I hope we get sorted into the same house, that would be cool, don't you think?"

"You want to be in Slytherin?" I asked hopefully. This wouldn't be at all bad, then.

"Slytherin?" he replied disdainfully. "No way. Gryffindor, of course. I wouldn't be caught dead in Slytherin, I've heard stories about that lot."

My heart sank at his words. I hoped he would at least speak to me once I was sorted into a different house.

But before I could reply to his words, the door slid open, and I heard the most amazing voice I'd ever heard as it asked, "Is there room for one more?" I glanced up, even as James replied in the affirmative. And that is when I beheld an angel.


	7. An Angel, A Train, A Hat, and a New Begi

TITLE: I, Sirius

AUTHOR: Lady Sirius

PAIRING: RL/SB

RATING: NC17

FEEDBACK: Of course all rights to Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling

- I only wish that Sirius and Remus were mine, other than in my heart!

DEDICATION: To my glorious, talented, wondrous and everlastingly sexy

inspiration - Gary Oldman - and to all those fans whose enthusiasm and kind words keep me going!

I, Sirius

Reflections of the Brightest Star

Chapter VII - An Angel, A Train, A Hat, and a New Beginning

Do not scoff. I said angel, and I mean angel. Literally. For when I glanced toward the doorway I saw the most beautiful figure standing there, breathtakingly illuminated - he was so glorious that I thought he glowed. For a few moments, I was unable to respond, dazzled as I was by the light which emanated from this wondrous being. Luckily, my participation in the conversation was optional at that moment. Remus insists that it was simply a trick of the light that caught my eye, but I beg to disagree. It was Fate, and it had just brought me an angel. Although it took me quite a while to realize that. All I knew was that something had happened, but I didn't quite know what it was.

Luckily, James was not taken with him in the same way that I was and invited my angel to join us in the car. He was in the middle of introductions as I became aware of the conversation already in progress. "Sir James Potter, at your service," he bowed in his most theatrical manner, "and this good sir would be brave Peter Pettigrew, esquire... and this other chap is young Lord Sirius Black, of the illustrious house of Blacks..." I couldn't help but blush at his reference to my family. Why did he have to bring them up, after all? That wasn't how I wished to be known, not at all.

"Nice to meet you all," the angel murmured shyly, "My name is Remus. No sir or Lord or brave, but plain old Remus Lupin..." Oh be still my beating heart. The most beautiful name in all the world. And it belonged to that angel. Remus, quit laughing, I mean it, I'm being very sincere here, you're spoiling the moment.

At any rate...

That was how we met, Remus and I. All of us, actually, but for the moment I'm concentrating on Remus. I know, such a shock, no? Set the sarcasm aside, Sirius. And thus begins the tale of the four Marauders. Although, of course, we didn't call ourselves that. Not yet.

I've forgotten just how long that train ride is, London to Hogwarts, but my best guess, at least to the best of my recollection, is somewhere in the six to seven hour range. Long enough for our friendship to solidify, take on shape, colour and purpose. And long enough for me to begin my lifelong fascination with Remus John Lupin.

There was something about him that drew me to him, that kept me close to him, as if afraid to wander too far from the sound of his melodious voice. Being all of eleven, then, I didn't even have a word for it, nor a concept of what this attraction I felt was, but it was instinctual, and I never questioned it. Whereas James and I were best friends, boon companions, fellow pranksters, Remus and I were - soul mates. Yes, I've probably said that before, and undoubtedly shall say it again. But it's true. He is the yin to my yang (unless I'm the yin and he's the yang, I always get that confused). He and I were meant to be together, of that I have no doubt. I just never analysed my need for him, although more than a few have suggested he have his own head examined for having anything to do with me. Obviously he never questioned it either, for here we still are. Together. Forever.

The nearer we drew to the school, the more I began to fear for our newfound friendship, certain that once I was sorted into Slytherin I would lose them all for sure, they would undoubtedly shun my company ever after. That thought was more than unbearable, but what could I do? No matter how I wished to prolong the journey, it was inevitable that it would indeed end and before we knew it we had arrived at the station which was our point of debarkation. There we first years were met by an enormous man of gigantic proportions. He said that his name was Hagrid, he was the groundskeeper for the school, and he had the honour of escorting us across the lake to Hogwarts.

Dark had already fallen as we sorted ourselves into the small boats and my luck seemed to be holding - for now - as the four of us were able to get into the same vessel, which then sped on its mysterious way across the water to the castle which loomed up ahead. I had already explained the sorting process to my companions, and it was with trepidation, as well as a sense of wonder, that we entered Hogwarts for the first time.

On first view, I have to say it was somewhat intimidating, massive stone fortress that it was, candles set alight in every nook and cranny, as we were led by this hulk of a man into the Great Hall, where apparently the rest of the student body awaited us, already seated at their own tables, according to House, while the staff was situated at two tables at the head of the room. And in between us and them was a lone stool, upon which sat the dread Sorting Hat. Hagrid wished us all luck, turning us over to a rather severe woman with a thick Highland burr, who instructed us to follow her, assembling us into a group, explaining what was about to happen. I only half listened, being a smart ass/know it all, too busy glancing about, wondering which was the Slytherin table. My best guess was that it belonged to the group who seemed to glower at us, as we stood there uncertainly. (Although if I'd been thinking clearly, I could have simply searched for either of my two cousins.) Therefore I missed the singing of the Sorting Song (an event which, in later years, I was grateful for), and it was with a start that I heard Professor McGonagall (she of the tartan plaid) calling my name - apparently not for the first time.

"SIRIUS BLACK!"

"Mate, it's your turn," James dug his elbow into my side, even as he propelled me toward the stool and the hat. Much as my feet longed to dig in, to refuse to participate in this barbaric ritual, I obediently stepped forward, and found myself with the loathsome beast placed upon my head - apparently I was the first of our group to be sorted, as they were going in alphabetical order, and B comes naturally before either L or P - damn my luck.

Well, I told myself, this was it - hello Slytherin, goodbye friends. I was surprised to hear a raspy voice in my ear, but as I hadn't been paying attention previously, I had no idea if this were standard operating procedure or not. "So, Mr. Black,you don't want to be follow in your family's footsteps and go into Slytherin?" the voice questioned me. And without thinking twice about it, I shook my head firmly. "No, I don't," I heard myself say, and the next thing I knew the hat had proclaimed, "GRYFFINDOR!", and I was being cheered and welcomed into my new House, much to my amazement.

What the fuck had just happened? Whatever it was, it pleased me greatly, especially as Remus, then Peter, then James, were all sorted into Gryffindor as well, and we four hung on one another and cheered at the top of our lungs. But deep inside, I knew there would be trouble ahead, a price I would have to pay for this moment of intense bliss. Little did I really know.

Next came something far more interesting - the Welcoming Feast. But first, a few words from our sponsor. A tall white haired wizard of dignified mien took up a position between the staff tables, clapping his hands together for silence - which he received instantly. "Welcome to Hogwarts, one and all," he said, even as I heard Remus, who sat beside me, whisper almost reverently, "Professor Dumbledore." Ah, so this was our headmaster. I gave my friend a curious glance at his tone but turned my attention back almost immediately. "I think we are going to have another wonderful year at Hogwarts, and another exciting year of Quidditch." He clapped his hands and banners unrolled from the ceiling, decorated in green and silver with a serpent rampant upon them. There were quite a few boos and hisses from the Gryffindor table at the sight, but an older girl stood and glared, and these quickly fell silent. "Congratulations once again to Slytherin for their win of the House Cup last year, and good luck to everyone in the coming year." The banners now quickly changed back to the individual house pictures once more, and peace was restored, as Professor Dumbledore clapped his hands once more, crying aloud, "Now, let the feasting begin!"

Instantly, dishes of food of all sorts appeared on the table before us, a magnificent feast, both in quantity and quality. Roasts and chickens and bowls of mashed potatoes and gravy and fresh green beans, rolls and biscuits and pitchers of ice cold pumpkin juice. Everyone dug in with a glad cry and little was said while all appeased their suddenly ravenous appetites. The food was wonderful, appearing as if by magic, which I assumed was how it had been produced, and we ate and ate until we could cram no more into our stomachs. Then the older girl stood, telling us she would lead us to our dorm, and all the first year Gryffindors fell into line behind her - five boys and five girls - following her from the Great Hall. I noticed one of the girls, a redhead, lingered at first, talking to a sallow hooknosed fellow who appeared to be a Slytherin. James noticed them too, nudging me. "I don't like that bloke," he said, "looks like a right proper git to me, don't you think?"

I needed my agreement to this sentiment, even as Remus plucked at my sleeve. "Sirius, we'll get lost," he admonished me, and I made haste to follow behind him, even as James snickered, although his attention was still riveted on the girl, who now left the boy behind and caught up with us herself. She noticed James' stare, and gave him one in return, her bright green eyes seeming filled with a great distaste. He flushed and turned away, as the girl who led us coughed to gain our attention.

"You really need to listen, it's very easy to get lost," she admonished us, "try to remember which stairs lead where or you'll end up somewhere else entirely. They're quite tricky, and it isn't hard to do, once you get the hang of it." She showed us how to maneuver up the stairs to our new home in Gryffindor Tower, which involved some sleight of foot and remembering when to jump off onto the next sliding staircase, and soon we stood together in a group in the hallway, facing a rather large portrait of a rather hefty lady. The portrait simpered at the lot of us standing there. "Oh the little first years! How cute!"

"This is how we get into the Common Room," the girl (whose name I later discovered to be Rosamunde) informed us, "in order to get in, you give the Fat Lady the password, which changes every week. If you don't have it, you don't get in, and you wait for another member of the house to come by and let you in." She turned to the portrait. "Paradox," she said, and the portrait swung open to admit us. We then entered the Gryffindor Common Room for the first time. I didn't see very much of it that first night, mainly noticing that it was filled with an assortment of furniture and contained a very nice fireplace, for by then the train ride, the large meal, and the general excitement of the day were catching up with me, as I suspect was the case with my companions. One of the older boys showed us up the stairs to the first year dorm, each dorm holding five inhabitants. In our case, it was the four of us and another fellow, who turned out to be Frank Longbottom. Our beds were already assigned and we found our trunks waiting for us, each at the appropriate bed. My bed was next to Remus', a proximity which was both heaven and hell in later years, but I'm getting ahead of myself - again.

I noticed that Remus seemed a little uneasy, glancing about him at us, and at his bed, twisting his hands nervously. On an impulse, I sat down beside him on his bed, taking his hand in mine. "Everything's going to be alright," I reassured him, assuming he suffered from homesickness, something which I certainly did not.

He gave me such a sad sweet smile, it melted my heart. As if he wanted to believe me, but didn't dare. "Thanks, Sirius," he whispered, and squeezed my hand.

Somehow I made my way back to my own bed and undressed, turning in and falling asleep immediately, for the next thing I knew, Helios was peeping in at us, it was time to rise, and it was time to get ready for the first day of school.

My life at Hogwarts had begun!


	8. Of Old Friends and Howlers

TITLE: I, Sirius

AUTHOR: Lady Sirius

PAIRING: RL/SB

RATING: NC17

FEEDBACK: Of course all rights to Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling

- I only wish that Sirius and Remus were mine, other than in my heart!

DEDICATION: To my glorious, talented, wondrous and everlastingly sexy

inspiration - Gary Oldman - and to all those fans whose enthusiasm and kind words keep me going!

I, Sirius

Reflections of the Brightest Star

Chapter VIII - Of Old Friends and Howlers

What, you might be curious, were my impressions, garnered from this new world I had entered into, new people, new situations, an entirely new way of life? A stricter regimen of classes balanced with the newly made friendship begun on the train to the school. The discovery that I had so much to learn about life in the wizarding world. Flying for the first time, and being told of the wondrous sport called quidditch which, alas, I was unable to participate in, as first years were not allowed (a tradition not broken until Harry's time, how proud James would be of his son). I settled in rather quickly, I do believe, into the routine of what was now my everyday life. Some classes I enjoyed more than others. Muggle studies was fascinating, but History of Magic invariably tended to put me to sleep, until I would feel Remus' foot prodding mine, and I would make an effort to stay awake. But I wasn't worried about my lack of notes - I could always talk him into letting me use his. He took great notes, Remus did, something I never bothered to do. In any class. I'll admit it now - I was extraordinarily lazy in that regard, and got by on the strength of my rather good memory, and my ability to absorb things easily. I had the ability to write a twelve inch essay while getting dressed, brushing my hair and juggling my books, at the same time reassuring Remus that I would be done in time, don't be such a worrywart. And I invariably was.

I'm not sure who had the courage to break the news to my family regarding my House placement, but about my third morning in the school, I received a strange missive with the morning post, something which I did not recognize. Some of the older students did, however, and I watched in confusion as they seemed to brace themselves against something, putting their fingers up to their ears. What that something was became readily apparent when the message opened itself, and the less than pleasant tones of Walburga could be heard, screeching through the Great Hall, unmistakably and very obviously unhappy.

_Sirius Black, I am completely and utterly ashamed of you! How dare you allow yourself to be sorted into that miserable House, breaking with the longstanding tradition of the Black family. Don't tell me you had nothing to do with it, I know better! You are a disgrace to the Black name, I should have drowned you at birth, and would have had I known this was going to happen..._

It went on, but by now I was past hearing it, staring at the letter, slackjawed, amazed, embarrassed, angry - any number of emotions flowing through my inert body. It was Remus who plucked the letter from my fingers and James who tore it up, casting the pieces away. I could hear snickers from the Slytherin table. I thought I recognized the nasal tones of one in particular, and I glanced toward them, to find _his_ eyes upon me. You must know who I mean. If not, insert the adjectives greasy and bignosed. Now you know him, don't you? And my two cousins, who seemed confused themselves, not sure, I imagine whether to openly sympathize with the traitor or not. For that is how they deemed me now, of course, a traitor to the illustrious Black name. An alien among them, who had forsaken his family, his blood, for those of a lower order. Bloodtraitor.

"Don't worry about it," Remus murmured softly beside me, his hand upon my arm, as I struggled to hold back the hot tears which threatened to fall. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, you're a great person..."

I turned my head to regard him, and his eyes held nothing but warmth and honesty and tenderness... everything I had never received from my mother in my life, all wrapped up in one pretty package. But before I could reply, I felt a hand fall upon my shoulder, and I looked up to see Professor McGonagall towering above me. Back then, of course, she was younger - weren't we all? - but she looked pretty much as she does now, maybe fewer wrinkles and frown lines. But at that moment, as she spoke, I thought she was simply lovely. "Pay no attention to that nonsense, Sirius, some people will never understand you, be grateful for those who do..." And before I had a chance to respond, she had walked off, but I could hear her muttering to herself, "...give a piece of my mind to Walburga Black, who does she think she is... what kind of mother..." The rest was cut off as she headed toward the teacher's table once more.

So that was my first howler - certainly not my last. But I learned after that to take the offending missive when I received it and rush with it out of the Great Hall, there listening to it in privacy. The message was the same, even if the words varied. Pure venom in every syllable. How she despised, hated, loathed me. I was unfit, indecent, disgusting. A disgrace, a right proper bastard, and I should have been destroyed at birth. Etcetera, etcetera, ad nauseum. And not a word from the spineless git that had supposedly sired me. I say supposedly because it wouldn't have surprised me to discover that Walburga had found a way to reproduce without benefit of male touch. I believe there are some earthworms that can do that. So, if they are neither heterosexual nor homosexual, does that make them asexual? Doesn't sound like much fun, does it? It was tacitly understood that Orion backed up everything that Walburga said, naturally. And each time I received one of those poisonous pen treats, Remus would follow me outside, and sit through them with me, and reassure me that my mother was a great nutter, and to disregard her. He would pat my arm, or my shoulder, squeeze my hand comfortingly, telling me I was a great person, a wonderful friend. Remus Lupin - my saviour, and my underdog. My life.

There was a time while I was still inside Azkaban, rotting away in that godforsaken hellhole, determined to survive, to emerge from there some day, no matter how I had to do it, when I pulled out these memories of those howlers, turned them over in my mind - not like there was a great deal else to do, other than to think - heard again the harsh tones of Walburga Black. But I skipped over them, and felt instead the soft healing tones of my Remus - the words he used to stroke me verbally, soothe me, place balm upon my wounded heart and let me know that I was indeed cared for, and worth caring for. I lost many things in Azkaban, but I held onto these, my memories of Remus Lupin - they kept me going when I wanted to give up, encouraged me when things were bad - and things were very bad there, indeed, with the Dementors simply waiting to spot a glimmer of hope, in order that they might suck it up. There were days when I simply wanted to die, to get it over with, to be honest. But it was Remus' voice that I heard inside my head, Remus' voice telling me not to give up, to hold on, for his sake. That some day we _would_ be reunited, that I had to believe - in him, in me, in us. Always us. We were - and are - as one. Always will be.

Familiar faces flash across my mind, people I met and knew at Hogwarts - people I lived with, laughed with, celebrated with, mourned with, and fought a war with. Although one in particular I should have fought against, and would have if I had only known then what I know now. Remus tells me that it's futile to attempt to relive the past, it's over and done and should be laid to rest. But then I counter with what else is history, but the past, and by your logic we shouldn't even attempt to learn it, it's done and should be put to peace. He shakes his head at me and tells me that isn't what he means, I shouldn't be so argumentative. I know what he's trying to do, though, and I do appreciate it. He doesn't want me to drudge up the bitter memories, the painful ones. Why couldn't I have lost these, or never regained them? Because one can't pick and choose this sort of thing, they are just there. And not thinking about them doesn't cause them to go away, after all. But yes, I will try not to be so morose, my love. Try being the operative word.

Lily Evans - a redhead with an attitude and green eyes that flashed fire. Particularly when Mr. James Potter was around. What can I say? She was pretty and she was smart and far more mature than we, but then if you study biology you learn that the females of the species tend to reach their maturation levels before the males do. Preparation for nesting, I imagine. And I don't say that in any demeaning sort of way. She was brilliant and loyal, and very very kind. And when I think of Lily, it's hard not to think of James. James Potter, Prongs, a rose by any other name. He was my dearest friend, my companion, my brother. I loved him in a way that's difficult to explain; a love that went beyond blood or kinship - a friendship of a very special nature. He was brave, foolhardy, sometimes cruel - but who is perfect, I ask you? Mischievous, funloving. James was a born leader - where he went, I followed. He blazed the trail, and I was right behind him, ready eager and willing to do his bidding. He was very very bright too - and, like me, didn't need to study for his grades. We both lucked out in that respect. They were both Gryffindors through and through. Their images shine brightly in my memory, and in my heart.

Frank and Alice Longbottom. Of course, she wasn't a Longbottom, then. Everyone knew they would end up together, they just seemed to fit together that way, even from the beginning. Best friends, boon companions. Isn't that the way all great love stories start? It's how Remus and I began. They were loyal and brave friends, fierce fighters in the battle against Voldemort. They did not deserve what happened to them, a fate worse than mere death. And to know that my own cousin was responsible for that, well, it just sickens me. She and Lestrange. A pairing made in hell. Which is where they belong. At least Frank and Alice are admirably represented by their son, a brave lad, Neville. Very brave indeed.

And then there was Peter. He whom we considered to be our friend, but who was the most perfidious traitor of them all. The Judas, the betrayer, the backstabber. Hindsight is wonderful, isn't it? When one considers that his animagus form is a rat, it gives one rise to think... but we never thought that way, simply accepted him for what he appeared to be - our friend, one of us. A Marauder. Dammit, dammit, dammit...It's his fault, all his fault for what happened - for James and Lily, for me and Remus, for Harry being an orphan, for...

Yes, yes, Remus, I know, I can't help it. Whenever I think of him, I get overexcited. He makes my blood pressure rise, even now. Yes, I know I need to calm down. Yes, love, coming.

I'll stop here for now, but the next thing I want to tell you is about what I like to refer to as the Great Cauldron Incident. Or how we learned to hate Severus Snape. Don't let me forget.


	9. The Great Cauldron Incident

TITLE: I, Sirius

AUTHOR: Lady Sirius

PAIRING: RL/SB

RATING: NC17

FEEDBACK: Of course all rights to Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling

- I only wish that Sirius and Remus were mine, other than in my heart!

DEDICATION: To my glorious, talented, wondrous and everlastingly sexy

inspiration - Gary Oldman - and to all those fans whose enthusiasm and kind words keep me going!

a/n: To the person who asked me about the train ride, and Deathly Hallows - for the record, I have not and shall not read DH, therefore I have used my own vision of their meeting. Besides which, I wanted to include Remus. I hated HBP and was sorry I read that, therefore I shall be going rather AU once I reach the area of OOTP, just so you all will know. I hope this does not present a problem for anyone. Thanks for your continued support.

I, Sirius

Reflections of the Brightest Star

Chapter IX - The Great Cauldron Incident

Is there anyone that does not love the great sport of quidditch? I mean, seriously? Or siriusly, even... Ah, that joke never grows old. Hush, Remus, I am telling this story, and I'll tell it as I see fit. You still laugh when I say it and you know it. James, if he said it once, said it a million times. Lily laughed - maybe once - then told us to grow up please. Rolled her green eyes at us, which only set James off more. He called her his little firecracker. She threatened to blow him up if he wasn't careful. Gods, they were so... so very volatile together. It's a wonder she didn't kill him. Yes, that is true love, isn't it, Remus? Is that the same reason you never killed me, even though I certainly gave you provocation at times?

Ah yes, I'm digressing, aren't I? Quidditch. Sport of wizards. I've seen a variety of muggle sports since that time, football, rugby, basketball, baseball, as played by the citizens of various nations. And yet nothing quite compares to quidditch. No, I don't think this is mere prejudice speaking, it's simple observation. And even better than mere spectating the sport is playing the sport. There is something that cannot be explained, it has to be experienced, the feeling one gets when one is upon one's broom, flying high above the cheering multitudes, who are so far below that they appear to be nothing but dungbeetles crawling in the stands, playing one's heart out at lofty altitudes, battling against another quidditch team, attempting to best them, outmaneuver them, and most of all to outscore them. I was a keeper - for Gryffindor, of course. Always loved that position and, if I do say so myself, did rather well at it. James was a chaser, besides being captain of the team. Remus never played himself. Mostly because Remus Lupin and brooms just do not go well together. Actually, make that Remus Lupin and heights. Which, when one is referring to flying, is a given. One doesn't fly a foot off the ground, after all. Which, of course, made taking him up on my flying motorcycle all the more difficult. Mind you, I'm not saying impossible, cause of course I managed to get him up there. Often. And not to mention there are things that can be done on a motorcycle when it's on the ground, as well. Very nice things. Ouch, what did I do to deserve that? Come now, you didn't think I'd leave the good parts out? Siriusly? I don't hear you disagreeing with what I said, and you can't hide that smile, my love. At any rate, that's later. Back to quidditch. For now.

I still remember the first quidditch game I was privileged to view - it was Gryffindor versus Slytherin. The traditional opening game, as I discovered, of the season, these two houses having been fierce rivals for many years. Albus himself admits that the tension predated even himself, and he's been at the school forever. His theory is that the members of each house are simply diametrically opposed to one another, and that in some ways they are very alike. Too alike. Of course I told him to belay that nonsense, I had no wish to hear that we were in any way shape or form like the snakes. But perhaps, in all honesty, he simply hit a nerve with that analysis, given my family history and all, and there but for the grace of Merlin go I. Gives one pause, doesn't it, to marvel at the way things work in the world - sometimes seamlessly, flawlessly, and at others times it's like a bus being driven by a demented driver, to use a muggle analogy. Or a train falling off the tracks.

The four of us watched the game together, naturally, and James and I were captive fans from the moment it started, Remus and Peter less so. We watched in fascination as the players soared above our heads, maneuvering, outmaneuvering, twisting and turning, each team doing their best to assist both in scoring the most points and in the capturing of the elusive golden snitch. We punched one another enthusiastically, cheered over each and every point scored by our House, booed when the snakes' quaffle hurtled through our goalposts. Remus cheered right along with us, of course, for he was ever a loyal Gryffindor, but he drew the line at the little victory dance we did when our team won the match, climbing up on our seats and shaking our arses for all they were worth. Which seemed to interest the girls of our House somewhat, for we received quite a few cries of approval from the females in our immediate vicinity. Which only led to more of the same, with miscellaneous bows thrown in for good measure. Until Remus walked away, shaking his head, and I leapt down from my perch and followed him. Even then I was always following him, I couldn't seem to help myself. James used to call me Remus' shadow. There were some that referred to me as James' shadow. Peter? He was the dark cloud hanging over our heads. No, that's not true, we didn't see that then, naturally. He was the shadow of the whole group, he never initiated an action nor had an original thought. He was simply there.

We first years had settled rather quickly into the routine of life at Hogwarts, most of the adjustment lying in the matter of our classes. Well, maybe the living arrangements too, but I'll touch on that later. The class schedule was difficult for me at first, I think, because I was not used to such discipline - tutors providing both one-on-one education and a less structured environment after all - and I wasn't used to being around so many other people. Not that I was shy - far from it. I was grateful to have an audience to perform for, and yes, I admit it, I was a terrible showoff, and this inclination only grew with my association with James. He encouraged me, he egged me on, and we tried to outdo one another with our antics. Overweening hubris in the making?

At that time, and as I am sure it is still done today, the houses were mixed together academically in the interests of house unity - I wonder if that is a dream that shall ever be achieved? Or is it simply a pipe dream, one worthy of Eugene O'Neil himself? Minus the iceman, of course. It certainly didn't happen in my day, and from what Harry told me, it didn't come to pass in his either. A sort of natural antipathy having made itself felt between certain houses that no amount of false camaraderie could overcome. In other words, particular houses simply hate one another. And I think you all know just who I mean.

Yes, that eternal feud between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Otherwise known as the battle between good versus evil. I don't need to remind you which is which, do I? Thought not. And we were unfortunate to be forced to sit through an already difficult class with the prats - namely, potions.

The Potions Master at that time - a role which he repeated during Harry's stint at the school - was one Horace J. Slughorn. Strange man, Slughorn. For a Slytherin, he was rather open-minded, I have to admit, embracing purebloods and halfbloods alike. Pedigree did not seem to matter with him. Lily Evans was an especial favourite of his, a member of his little "society", known affectionately (or not so affectionately) as the Slug Club. I'm not sure if Slughorn was actually that liberal, or if he had ulterior motives - looking back, I think he chose people not just on an academic basis, but on their potential for furthering the interests of one Horace Slughorn. For myself, I chose not to be involved, and eschewed attending any of his little "dinners", disguised attempts at gladhanding, practicing his buddy-buddy techniques on future hopefuls. It didn't hurt that I knew that Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape were attendees at these functions, made turning them down easier. I think I was only included because of my name, and that has always been something I chose not to trade on for anything - I would have much rather forgotten that I was a Black than to blast the fact around.

And now the villain of my piece has a name. Snape. Severus Snape. Or Snivellus as he is affectionately known to us. Am I simply dripping sarcasm or what? Well, I mean to be. Of course Snivellus was in our potions class. Naturally. And within the first few weeks of class, he had attained the dubious honour of becoming the teacher's pet. Slughorn fairly thought the sun rose and set on him and was always praising his work, merlin could his voice get any more oily?, and encouraging the rest of us to be more like him. Which, of course, did not endear him to us any better.

In case you don't recall, we first encountered the snarky bastard on our first night at Hogwarts - the hooknosed git talking to the redheaded Gryffindor girl. Apparently they were bosom buddies or some such tripe, for they were often seen in one another's company. And during potions class they were partners, sharing a table and a cauldron. James and I started out the year as partners as well, but Remus quickly put a stop to that, insisting that the two of us in tandem was altogether much too volatile a situation to be tolerated for the sake of the class (and, he insisted, for our own benefit as well, as we learned early on just exactly what detention entailed), and taking Jamie's place by me. Not that I argued, mind you. And James and I still found ways to communicate with one another during class and plot great deeds even when not seated directly next one another.

No, I've not forgotten what I was going to tell you about, I'm getting there. The Great Cauldron Incident. See? I do remember.

On the day in question, James and I happened to be sharing a table, for Remus was not among our number that day. He was in the infirmary, a place that he went too often in my estimation, and I agonized over each and every absence, and worried about his health. We hadn't caught on yet as to the true nature of his visits to Madame Pomfrey, not until we'd had some time to find the pattern in the regularity and duration of his illnesses. He was too clever to allow us to catch sight of what could have been good clues - namely the self-inflicted scratches with which his body was covered in places. And I was too young yet to try to sneak a peek in the shower - that would come later, when puberty made itself felt, and curiousity tried to kill the cat. Which wasn't proof in and of itself that I was gay. All boys are curious about one another, it's simply human nature. Checking out the competition, seeing what they have, after all. And believe me when I tell you the first time I got a good hard look at Remus, I was amazed. Even as a wee lad, he was, shall we say, well hung. I do believe I'm making the man blush. He's too modest, by far. His body is very beautiful, you know. A true work of art. Always has been, always will be... What? Yes, I know, I'm off the subject. Hang on for a moment, while I savor this mental image...

Anyway.

I forget what potion we were set to work on on that particular day. It doesn't really matter, anyway, does it? It's what happened that counts, after all. James and I had had a runin with Mr. Greasy at the beginning of class, James making some comment about greasy hair and offering to send over some of his best shampoo to Slytherin for those who couldn't seem to find their own. Naturally, Snape didn't take that at all well - imagine that - and neither did Miss Evans, although I have to admit I snickered pretty loudly myself, and James and I found ourselves on the wrong end of a glare from Lily. Well, that was something of a challenge to James; he hated to be disliked by any pretty girl, and he especially hated not to be the center of attention, the best loved, and all that - but for some reason Lily's disdain for him really sent him off the deep end, and he went out of his way to get her to notice him, even then. Which of course she did, but not in any good way. It was all wasted effort at first, and he certainly made a fool of himself, over and over and over. But all's well that ends well, and I suppose it was good practice for later. Or something. Before any more could be said, we were told to sit down, and Professor Slughorn began the class, outlining what we were to do.

Each table acquired the necessary items for the potion, and soon we were hard at work, mixing our various messes. James always put me in charge of cutting up things, because he said I was neater than he was - probably because of all my practice in the kitchen of #12 Grimmauld - I imagine he made Pete do the same when they partnered, Remus did it himself. James counted out what else we needed, calling it out in one of the various voices he affected - this one was his Germanic professor persona. He rolled his r's outrageously and strutted about the table, putting on quite a show, and drawing an admiring audience of boys and girls alike (Remus once told me he reminded him of someone named Ludwig von Drake, whoever that is). His antics seemed to have no effect on Lily, though, she and Snape had their heads together as they worked, much to James' dismay, and the git actually had the nerve to roll his eyes in our direction, a smirk upon his almost non-existent lips.

What happened next was debated for years afterward. I can but give you my recollection of the event - take it for what it's worth. As I said, we were all working on potions, James was showing off, I was laughing at him, Professor Slughorn was sitting at his desk (I think he had his nose buried in some sort of wizarding social register) when Lily began to head toward the front of the room. James' attention was instantly diverted toward her, while at just that moment Peter, who was sitting at a table beside us, asked for my assistance with something, so naturally I began to help him. It was at this point that our table became vulnerable and open to attack. Suddenly I felt my foot being trodden upon, and I yelped with pain, glancing up to see the big nosed git standing over me.

"Excuse me, Black," he said in that oily voice of his, "my fault entirely," and he moved on past me, but I could see a certain satisfaction in his dark eyes. I scowled at his retreating back - fat lot of good that did - and, finished with Peter, turned back to our cauldron. To my dismay, the previously placid dark liquid, which I had yet to add my chopped things to, was now a volatile green, and the surface was roiling mightily. Oh merlin, I knew this couldn't be good.

"James, what did you do?" I asked.

He tore his eyes away from Evans, turned toward me, obviously confused. "What?" he asked. "What did I do what?"

But before I could get my next words out, there was an awful explosion, and our cauldron began belching green fluid into the air, raining it down upon us stickily and upon everyone in our immediate vicinity. Then it was that I realized what must have happened - when Snape had put his hoof upon my foot, he had taken advantage of my pain and distraction to toss something untoward into our cauldron, causing it to explode. Who better than teacher's pet to know just what would make it blow up? James and I both ducked beneath the table at the same time, amid the scrambling and screaming confusion of our classmates. I could hear Slughorn crying out, "What's going on here? What's going on here?" and Snape offering to assist in the matter. I glanced at James and to my dismay saw that his face was covered in horrible green and black spots, and from the way he was pointing at me, I surmised that my countenance reflected the same. That did it. I came out from under the table screaming Snape's name, and I spotted him, walking around the room, as if trying to aid and comfort the rest of the students, Lily beside him.

"You fucking git! You did this!" But before he could reply - and I had no doubt he would deny it, of course - I had thrown myself at him, tackling him to the ground, as I began to pummel him. I could hear James following after me and I have no doubt he would have joined in the fray had not Slughorn come up behind us just then. He grabbed me by one ear, and then caught up James by one of his, and pulled us away from the slimy Slytherin, who was struggling to his feet, with the aid of Miss Evans.

"He did that!" I cried to the teacher, "he put something in our cauldron that made it blow up." James nodded his head in agreement, but to no avail.

"Did you see him do it?" Slughorn asked us, his face mirroring some sort of teacherly concern, and of course we had to answer in the negative. We could have lied, but that is a Slytherin trait, not a Gryffindor one. "Did you do anything to their potion?" he then proceeded to ask Snape. We weren't surprise to see him shake his greasy head, naturally. The snake. "Then you will have to serve detention," was the next response - who couldn't have seen that coming? Certainly not our first, nor last, bount of detention to be served during our tenure at Hogwarts. Slughorn dismissed the class, and sent James and I to the infirmary, where Madame Pomfrey put something on our faces that seemed to sting an inordinate amount, and added a strange pink glow to our faces until the green and black spots healed. I suppose it could have been worse, they could have formed pustules or something, and exploded. But that might have been cool too, who knows.

As we were leaving the classroom for the infirmary, we passed by Lily and her puppet, their potion complete and perfect, of course, having been praised by Slughorn for its perfection. Lily looked at us disdainfully. "You shouldn't blame your own incompetence on other people," she chided, "maybe if you studied once in a while, instead of always playing games and pulling stupid pranks..."

James tried to protest that we had done nothing to deserve her contumely, but she merely shook her head at him and walked away. Snape, though, looked straight into my eyes, before he said, "Know your enemy, Black," in his cold emotionless voice. And then he too walked off, while James and I were shooed off to the infimary by Slughorn.

Although we had never been on any sort of friendly terms before, from that day forward we were sworn enemies - Snape versus James and Remus and Peter and I (Remus and Peter more by proxy than actuality). And that day saw the bestowing of a nickname upon the four of us which stuck to us throughout our school days and beyond. We were sitting in our Common Room that night, and I was receiving my lecture from Remus for what I had done (but a watered-down version as he seemed to be too tired to give it to me fullforce), when Lily walked in, planting herself in front of us, hands on hips, green eyes flashing indignation.

"You four think you're so clever," she remonstrated, "like you're some sort of gods or something. Well you're nothing but common marauders in my book, so there!" And she turned up her nose and walked away.

We looked at one another with great delight - well, more James and I, Remus was frowning a bit and Peter was confused, as most of what happened in Slughorn's class had gone over his head. That sounded, well, rather piratical. And what eleven year old boy doesn't wish to think of himself as some sort of pirate? The marauders we became, and the marauders we stayed for a very long time. Although now there are just two of us left, one being sadly deceased, and the other one stricken from the records long ago.

And now begins the Marauder Era.

I just like the way that sounds. Don't laugh, Remus.


	10. Some Felines Are Too Stupid To Live

TITLE: I, Sirius

AUTHOR: Lady Sirius

PAIRING: RL/SB

RATING: NC17

FEEDBACK: Of course all rights to Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling

- I only wish that Sirius and Remus were mine, other than in my heart!

DEDICATION: To my glorious, talented, wondrous and everlastingly sexy

inspiration - Gary Oldman - and to all those fans whose enthusiasm and kind words keep me going!

I, Sirius

Reflections of the Brightest Star

Chapter X - Some Felines Are Too Stupid To Live

I would much rather serve a year's worth of detention at Hogwarts than spend a single day in Azkaban.

Azkaban.

The very name sends shivers down my spine even now, and there are nights when I can't help but find myself back there again, and I am struggling against them, against the dementors, who seek to suck every last bit of hope from me that they can find, and I scream at them to leave me alone, to go away, but they only laugh - if that is even a word that can be applied to them for I think there was no ounce of humour in their bleak makeup. They press closer to me, cold and clammy and overwhelmingly cloying, and I know what they would do if they could - suck out my very soul, leaving naught but an empty husk to commemorate what once was Sirius Black - and I waken with a muffled scream to find myself huddled against Remus, who holds me close and shushes my fears and tells me that I'm safe now, I'll never have to go back there again, he'll see to that...

Azkaban. Cold, overwhelmingly cold. Temperaturewise and otherwise. And the smell of salt permeates everything, you can't get away from it, it wafts in with every breeze - and there are a lot of breezes in this draughty place, this fortress on the North Sea. And surprisingly no high walls - only rocks and water. Those weren't needed. We were on an island, for Merlin's sake, in the middle of nowhere, but more than that, the guards of the place, the infernal Dementors, made sure that no one really had the spirit to leave - they sucked it from them, bit by bit, day after day, until everyone became a prisoner trapped inside his own mind. Look at how long it took me to leave the place. And that what with longing for and missing Remus every single second of every single day, and wanting to be with him so badly that it was a constant ache in my soul, a neverending pain in my heart. It wasn 't until Fudge's visit - when I asked for and received a copy of the Prophet, spotting Pettigrew immediately in his animagus form on the cover, there with Molly and Arthur and the bairns - that I shook myself from the lethargy that had taken hold of me. I knew that I had to leave immediately, that he was going after Harry - what choice did I have? It's only by the greatest miracle that I did not lose my mind in that place - although I am sure that some would wish to debate that point

We were free to wander about the prison as we wished, but few did so, because one learned early on that the joy of speaking with one's fellow inmates was quickly seized upon and destroyed by those horrendous Dementors. They targeted it almost gleefully, and those that participated found out the hard way what those foul beings could do firsthand. So we kept to ourselves, for the most part, and simply... survived. Or not. Many did not survive, at least not in any identifiable form. They became lost in themselves; unable to cope with the world any longer, they hid away from it, inside themselves. And then there were others that somehow managed to muddle through. Like myself - but I attribute my survival to Remus, for I hid him away in my heart and brought him out at quiet moments. His image, his voice, his words, all inducements to me to continue to fight, to stay strong, and to survive - most of all to simply survive this experience - and return to him some day. The Death Eaters that were incarcerated did not have such a bad time of it, I think, because they were evil going in, and for the most part didn't possess a lot of happy thoughts or feelings. My cousin Bellatrix - well she became even crazier than she had been before. And we're talking about a whole lot of crazy there. Which did nothing, of course, for that big wide mean streak she had, either. No, not even that - that woman was downright cruel, and she enjoyed it. Her and Roddyboy both. When I think of how very close she came, in the Department of Mysteries, to ... well, I won't even speak of it. Not now. Not here. Luci came out of Azkaban relatively intact, but I suspect he bought his way through the experience - typical Malfoy behaviour. He used his wealth to buy his way through life, I think, doing as little as he possibly could. I wonder if begetting Draco was a major effort for him?

Enough about Azkaban, I've dwelt on it too long as it is. I am just now finally at the point where I think I have gathered back what I lost there, but it's taken a long time, and a lot of effort on Remus' part to bring me here, no sense in falling apart just thinking about the place.

Growing up at Grimmauld Place, we never did have any pets. We weren't allowed to have them, Walburga simply forbid it. I remember asking her if I could have a puppy or a kitten or any of the other normal animals which little boys love to have in their lives. She told me no, under no circumstances would I be allowed to bring a "filthy animal" into her home - hers, mind you, not mine. Ha! If she only knew, mine now. She said that having me was bad enough, I was little better than a house elf as it was. But what was even stranger, and more unexpected, she would not allow Regulus to have one either. Not being stupid, it entered my head that if he asked her, she'd probably say yes, she said yes to everything else he wanted - but this request too was met with a firm, although kinder, no. She simply did not tolerate them in any way, shape or form.

I, on the other hand, love animals, and always have - always will. Especially a particular sexy wolf... Yes, you, you chump, don't look at me like that. What? Oh, kidding, are you? Silly Remus... But yes, I have always loved animals, and sometimes I would attempt to take care of the ones I ran across, in the yard, or at school, or wherever - any creature that looked homeless or helpless or in need of someone to love them. My attempts generally didn't come to much, and I honestly didn't get much opportunity to ply my good samaritan skills, as such. Most animals would not come near our back yard - probably sensed all the black magic that simply oozed from the house. Maybe that's why I took to the idea of becoming an animagus so much - of becoming an animal myself, doing what animals do. It simply appealed to me. And maybe that is one reason why I got along so well with Hagrid, but more of him later.

That all having been said, I hated Mrs. Norris the first time that I saw her.

Scrawny, nasty little feline - and I have nothing against the species whatsoever normally. Minerva - she's a tabby, did you know that? Scottish tabby, I guess. Now as a cat, I think she's actually nicer than in her human form. Well, at times, anyway. But then her animagus form has never pulled on my ears or given me detention, so I may be prejudiced. We were coming from the Great Hall one day, I think it was just after breakfast, we'd not been in the school long. It might actually have been the first day, I dunno any more. But there she was, standing in our way, as we were attempting to figure out where our first class was - the colour of dirt she was, all nasty grayish brown or something with big yellow eyes like the headlights on the Hogwarts Express. Something in her put me off right away. James too, I think. He was starting to skirt around her, a bit warily. But not so Remus. That man simply has an affinity for animals. Even as a boy, it was apparent. It's the kindness in his heart, you know. He can't resist an animal or a child, either. If you have any doubts on that point, you should see our home. It's filled with both. Her strange appearance notwithstanding, he made the mistake of trying to be friendly to the beast, leaning down and putting his hand out where she could sniff at it - which, he assures me, is the proper way to make overtures to any strange animal, to allow it to smell you so it can figure out that you're friend, not enemy. Well, his Pollyanna attitude didn't go over very well with this particular cat. She had marvelous fast reflexes too, and before we knew what she was about, she had put a right proper long scratch down the palm of his hand, yowling in a rather admonitory way as if to tell us she had no use for our shenanigans, before she tore out of the room, leaving poor Remus bleeding pretty good. I thought Peter was going to be ill, he looked so queazy at the sight. I was a bit more handy than that, as I fished out a handkerchief and bound the bleeding paw. I could see tears forming in his eyes - probably from shock as much as pain and surprise. James was angry and wanted to emasculate the cat on the spot - easy to say, seeing as how she'd already left. And, as we learned, she couldn't be emasculated, for obvious reasons. But we all four swore to get our revenge, then and there. And we meant it.

At that point, of course, we had no idea whose cat she was, nor did we particularly care. But when we learned who her owner was, well, that only gave us added impetus to do something to her. Something unpleasant. We couldn't very well kill her, of course, and I don't think we really wanted to. Not siriusly, maybe in the halfhearted way of children when they are angry, as in, I hate you, I'm going to kill you, that sort of thing. But we meant no permanent harm to her - we just wanted a way to get even with her for what she'd done to Remus, that's all. And maybe to spite her owner too, alright, I'll admit it.

James and I met Argus Filch first, before the other Marauders did. In case you don't know who he is, Filch is the caretaker at Hogwarts, as well as being a damn nasty human being - and I do use that term loosely, as I have no real proof of his humanity - and he is/was also the owner of Mrs. Norris - I've no idea if that horrible feline still stalks the earth or not, nor do I really care. And on top of all that, he was a squib. That means that he had wizards for parents, but that he was never able to do magic himself because he wasn't born with the right stuff. Kind of a reverse of those wizards that are muggleborn. I like to call it being magically impotent - and yes, I've told him that on more than one occasion. Not when I was eleven, though. I wasn't clever enough to make a joke like that back then. Still a bit innocent in that arena, after all. His being a squib was both bad and good for us - good because we never feared that he could do anything with a wand to harm us, which I've no doubt he would have, on many occasions; bad, because I think he took out his squibness on the rest of the world, making up I suppose for his great feelings of inadequacy. Right bloody bastard, he was. Still is. I'll remind him of that the next time I see him, just to make myself feel better. No, I don't consider it childish. Hush.

James and I had decided to take a bit of a stroll one night, just to see what we could see. Get the lay of the land, so to speak. Or of the castle, I should say. We were both just curious boys, that's all, wanting to embark upon a voyage of discovery in this strange new world we found ourselves thrust into. Alright, maybe that's a slight exaggeration. We wanted to see what mischief we could get up to near the Slytherin dungeons, if you want the truth of the matter. And maybe, just maybe, it was done in the middle of the night when properly we should have been abed, as Remus and Pete were. But, as you'll come to notice in these pages, James and I were never what anyone might consider the good boys of this story; we were not seen as proper obedient boys, not by any stretch of the imagination. Yes, Remus, they did call us hooligans and troublemakers and other nomenclatures which I shall not repeat. I prefer the word spirited myself.

Of course we had been told that there was a curfew in place at Hogwarts, and that there were times when we were not allowed to be outside of our House. I think it was after eleven o'clcock, maybe. Did that stop us? Obviously not. We thought that we knew what we were doing, rules were made for other people and not for young gods like us - ah, the brashness of youth. Or the balls. Take your pick.

I'd like to say that we handily snuck inside Slytherin, using our vast knowledge of picklock charms, and proceeded to play the best and biggest joke of all on the sleeping snakes, something so vast and significant that they are talking about it in Gryffindor even to this day. I'd really like to say that but alas, that would be a complete and total lie. The truth of the matter is that we were still in the act of maneuvering down the staircases - a skill which we apparently hadn't quite mastered yet, especially not in the middle of the night, a task made more difficult by the presence of a certain pesky poltergeist, damn Peeves anyway - when we heard a sudden cry, and we looked up right sharply to find a most unpleasant hunchback of a man with long grey hair and a horrible scowl descending upon us.

"Run!" James cried at me, and I tried to do so, but a treacherous staircase that I hastily leapt upon had quickly rotated and led me right back to where I had begun, and by then we had both been grabbed by the scruffs of our necks by this scrawny grayhaired smelly newcomer, who growled at us in his awful highland burr and demanded to know what we were doing sneaking about the school at this time of night. Claiming that we got lost on the way to the loo did us not a bit of good as of course there was one of those right inside our dorm, so no need to be gallivanting around the school for that reason. He marched us straight to Minerva's room, who wasn't the least bit happy at being disturbed in this manner or at this time, and promptly gave us what was probably our first detention - to be served under the watchful auspices of one Argus Filch. We were bitter enemies from that time forward.

Therefore learning that the malevolent feline with the nasty disposition was his was like throwing oil on a fire. Only caused the flames to leap that much higher.

It was James' idea, I admit, but I went along with it, and Remus and Peter simply followed our lead. Yes, we were the ringleaders, the instigators, the shit-disturbers par excellence. Damn proud of it, too. James went to the library, searched through some of the basic spells books, as we were just beginners after all, and found a book of basic spells which had just the one we wanted, and then he taught it to us, not knowing how many of us it might take to get the spell right. We came upon Mrs. Norris one day, unawares, napping unexpectedly in one of the hallways, stretched out in a stray ray of sunlight - that was her undoing. We crept up upon her and cast the spell, waiting just long enough to see that it had taken effect before hightailing it, laughing our asses off. Yes, you too, Remus - you laughed til you cried, I remember. That night we had the satisfaction of watching Filch march into the Great Hall, with a pink striped cat in his arms, demanding that the headmaster find out who was responsible for this atrocity and let him, Filch, beat the wickedness out of them. I swear Albus looked right at us while Filch was yelling, and James said he saw a twinkle in the old man's eyes. He never said a word to us, though. Score one for the Marauders! We surely got our revenge that day, our evens for what she'd done to Remus.

Oh Remus, before I forget, you'll never guess whom I ran into the other day? That old crackpot herself. Yes, Sybill Trelawney. Looks about the same, near as I can tell. Not that that's good, mind you. She ever get married, that you know of? She did? To him? Really? I thought Dedalus had better taste. Oh well.

Oh yes, we knew her at Hogwarts. The same Sybill Trelawney that taught Harry Divinations. Or tried to. The same one that Hermione walked out on so bravely in her third year of school. What spunk that girl has! Sorry, she's a woman now. Sometimes I forget. Sometimes I have trouble remembering what year it is, or how long has passed since everything happened. Time is so dicey, sometimes...

But I do remember who she had a terrible crush on at one time. Sybill, I mean, not Hermione. Oh yes, I do remember that. I bet you remember too, don't you, Remy? What do you mean, you'd rather not talk about it? Oh she thought you were quite the cat's meow, didn't she? How many times did she offer to read your future? Tried to get you to take tea with her so she could read the leaves. No, I'm not laughing. Really. What's that? Your secret admirer? Hell no, I don't want to discuss that. Dammit, now you're laughing. Yes, you are. I can see you. Wasn't funny. I can pout if I want to. You know I hated that. Very much. That won't work, Remus Lupin, don't even try it. No, don't try to kiss it away. No, don't... don't... d...


	11. Of Teacups and Dresses

TITLE: I, Sirius

AUTHOR: Lady Sirius

PAIRING: RL/SB

RATING: NC17

FEEDBACK: Of course all rights to Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling

- I only wish that Sirius and Remus were mine, other than in my heart!

DEDICATION: To my glorious, talented, wondrous and everlastingly sexy

inspiration - Gary Oldman - and to all those fans whose enthusiasm and kind words keep me going!

I, Sirius

Reflections of the Brightest Star

Chapter XI - Of Teacups and Dresses

When I was about six or seven - or maybe younger, it's hard to tell, when you're that age, a lot of things blend together, you know? One year bleeding into another, cause your consciousness doesn't really change that drastically, not then. At any rate, somewhere about that time in my life I remember being impressed by my cousin Narcissa into joining her for a formal tea party - sort of the way that sailors were impressed into her Majesty's navy, at one time. Do you know they call sailors limeys? In the UK, that is. Or at least they used to. Something to do with scurvy - they kept limes on the ships to keep the sailors scurvy-free, so they became limeys, and then it became somewhat of a derogatory term. I should look that up some time, the etymology, so I'll know for sure. What do you call that thing we use, Remus? Interwebs? Internets? Well, something like that. Remus is the expert, not me. I'm just the pretty face, he's the brains of this outfit. Anyway...

We were at her parents' house, visiting with Cygnus and Druella... well, the adults were visiting together, the children were doing whatever children do when forced into one another's company, which wasn't always a bad thing. Andromeda was reading a storybook to Regulus, something with teddy bears in it having a picnic - even then she had the most wonderful maternal instincts. Unlike her older sister, whom I am grateful never conceived. I'm not sure where Bella was, I half remember her and Roddy slinking out together, but I paid them no attention. Narcissa had taken my hand, and presented to me a piece of pale parchment which bore a handwritten invitation to her tea party. Not that I actually had a choice, mind you, as she took me by my other hand and led me to her play room for the big event. Narcissa's play area was very different from that of any other child's I have ever seen before or since - it was neat and tidy and very orderly, dolls and stuffed animals all arranged just so, books set in their proper place upon her book shelf, in alphabetical order - you could tell that if one came off to be read it would be returned to the exact same space or it would be immediately noticed - and nothing was scattered about, even accidentally. She even had pieces of bric a brac set out on display shelves, spotlessly maintained by the house elves no doubt, and dainty tea sets of fine china.

A table was already set up for our use, upon which sat a Delft blue china tea set, and a plate piled high with little muffins. (No, I didn't recognize china patterns at that age, but it stuck in my mind, and Remus and I have a few pieces of it lying about somewhere, I think). It was the latter which encouraged my participation, as I felt my stomach growl, and which is why I didn't complain when she pulled something over my head, saying I must dress properly for the occasion. It took me a few minutes to realize that she had just shoved me into a dress, but I shrugged it off. I was used to wearing wizard's robes, after all, and this didn't seem much different to me. Maybe frillier. But at that age it had no connotations of sissiness, which another few years would surely add to my perspective - that and the fact that we were in complete privacy and there was no one to make fun of me, so I simply accepted it.

But speaking of dresses reminds me of something that happened the summer that we left Hogwarts. By this time, not only were James and Lily an established item, but they were engaged. I don't think any of us were surprised, not really. After all, we'd born witness to their entire courtship, hadn't we? Watched the rejections, the entreaties, the sarcastic repartee which was their usual method of communication, the back and forth, the sidelong glances, the stolen looks when they thought no one was paying attention, James' frustrated tirades as he stalked back and forth in our dorm and indulged in a bit of wall punching, his continual battle with his hair in his attempts to look pleasing to her - as I said, we were there and we saw it all, and the thing that was most obvious was that no matter what they did or said to one another, it all came back to the two of them in the end - they couldn't stay away from each other. Unlike Remus and I, who never fight, nor exchange a harsh word between us. No we don't. No. Never. Seldom. Not very often...Maybe once in a while.

Remus, you're distracting me again with these asides.

And suddenly, also, we noticed that we began to see less and less of Peter. Although Remus is wont to say that perhaps if we didn't have our heads shoved so far up one another's arses, we'd have noticed it while we were still at school. Which may or may not be true, but it's a moot point. Not that I can honestly say I ever saw him in the company of any of the Slytherin lot back then. Nothing quite so blatant, but you can't tell me they didn't approach him then, they must have, in light of future developments. And you can't tell me that most Death Eaters, at least the ones that went to Hogwarts, weren't members of that particularly repellent house. I can't even properly blame Snape, much as I'd like to pin that one on the greasy bastard, although I still think he's the one responsible for bringing Peter into Voldemort's fold - probably acting under Malfoy's orders, cause he is his lapdog after all - but, as Remus so kindly reminds me, I've not any proof. My response is I don't need fucking proof, I am the evidence of his treachery, and Harry the victim, and James and Lily...

Yes, yes, I know, not going off on that tangent. Not this time.

But that summer, we were two couples very much in love and living together with our respective partners and we had the world by the tail. Or so we thought. Funny how very much we didn't know. The wheels that were already set in motion, the boulder that was about to flatten us all... But one night we decided to go out to a pub together and unwind a bit from the tensions that were building around us...

James and Lily had chosen the place, some little muggle bar, in Soho I think it was - did you know that Soho is short for South of Houston? - and it was actually fairly packed with muggles that night. And us, of course. Lily explained that it was because they had something going on called amateur night. And that they were apparently giving trophies for the best amateurs. Amateur whats, I asked, which made Lily laugh, as she explained to me just what was happening. Remus was shaking his head at the idea of performing on a stage, in front of total strangers. Lily too - sometimes I marveled at the similarities between those two - both could be incredibly anal at times, like they had sticks shoved up their bums, you know? No, not all the time, or course. Or I'd have never given you the time of day. Hey, don't tickle me there, you'll make me... Damn, Remus, no fair... At any rate, after a few drinks, the stage didn't seem such a scary thing after all, and we were laughing and joking about what we would do if we were to enter. James said that he and Lily would sing together, a romantic duet that would make the tears fall from everyone's eyes. Remus, considerably loosened up, reminded me that when we were still in Hogwarts, he had introduced me to a great deal of muggle writers, among them Willie Shakespeare, and that the two of us had secretly re-enacted scenes from some of his plays. Particularly Romeo and Juliet. Particularly the balcony scene.

Does everyone not see where this is going?

I think we were all pretty much three sheets to the wind, as the saying goes, although just what that really means I can't tell you, but it sounds nautical. Maybe sheets are sails? Regardless, before I quite knew what had hit me, Remus had dragged me over to sign up for this muggle event (don't let him tell you it was my idea, of course it wasn't... ouch!), and James and Lily had done the same. James laughed that I didn't look very much like Juliet, and of course I indignantly questioned why he assumed that I was playing the part of Juliet, why did he take it upon himself to presume that Remus would play Romeo, that Remus was the alpha in our relationship, the one to call the shots, etcetera - at which point they pretty well all told me to sod off, they knew better - and I couldn't very well keep up the argument for long as they were right of course. And I wasn't exactly dressed for the part, was I? So, then Lily pulled me aside, out of eyeshot and earshot of the muggles, and very cautiously transfigured something of hers into a dress - one of those longsleeves numbers, you know the kind, with the long train. And she glamoured me with make up, hiding my very masculine moustache - and how proud I was of that, wasn't I, Rem, when I first grew it? Used moustache wax on it for a year before he told me he didn't like the stiffness when he kissed me, at which time I discontinued its use. And so we performed the balcony scene for this contest. Or our version thereof. Hang on, I think we might still have a picture of that, don't we? One of the old albums, ah yes, that one. There we are - Romeo and Juliet. Remus looks so handsome! Lily took it while we were performing. I'm amazed I remembered the lines, as plastered as I was, but somehow I did. At least I think I did. Remus says I twisted it around and made it sound like something out of a bad porno. Whatever, we managed to snag second prize, James and Lily somehow managed to back out of it entirely, and altogether it was a very fun evening.

We had a few such, before things got too difficult, too dangerous. James and Lily. Too young, much too young.

What was I talking about before this? I must be offtrack somewhere. Oh yes, the tea party. It wasn't so much that it was a special tea party with Narcissa, but that she and I did get along at one time. I think that was the point. I'm not sure any more. I already mentioned she was my first kiss. Remus says there's still good in her, I should reach out to her, she's family after all. Maybe I will.

I wanted to talk about Hagrid next, but I don't think this is a good time. One of the babies is crying. Hush hush, Grandpa Sirius is coming. Next time. Come give me a hand, will you, Rem? Now I hear two.


	12. Of Conundrums and Relativity

TITLE: I, Sirius

AUTHOR: Lady Sirius

PAIRING: RL/SB

RATING: NC17

FEEDBACK: Of course all rights to Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling

- I only wish that Sirius and Remus were mine, other than in my heart!

DEDICATION: To my glorious, talented, wondrous and everlastingly sexy

inspiration - Gary Oldman - and to all those fans whose enthusiasm and kind words keep me going!

I, Sirius

Reflections of the Brightest Star

Chapter XII - Of Conundrums and Relativity

I looked up conundrum the other day in the dictionary. Not because I wished to find a definition for it - I do know what it means. It's like a riddle. Or a complicated situation. No, I didn't look it up because I didn't know how to use it, obviously I did and do, but because I happened to use it in conversation with Remus and damned if he didn't start laughing his head off. At me. And don't even tell me you were laughing _with_ me, not _at_ me, Mr. Lupin, that is a nebulous distinction at best. Oh yes, I only call you Mr. Lupin when I'm pissy, that's right. But it wasn't funny. I mean, I'd never heard the word pronounced before, not aloud, and so I called it as I saw it. Pardon me for not pronouncing it to _your_ satisfaction. I'm not Miriam fucking Webster, you know. For those who are wondering how I assaulted my husband's so sensitive ears, I'll tell you - I merely pronounced it with the accent on the first syllable. CON-in- drum, rather than con-UN-drum. Ex-CUSE me for living.

Don't tell me I'm cute when I'm mad. I don't want to hear it.

Flatterer.

Back to more serious matters. Sirius matters, even.

It's funny to consider how things can hang upon such slender threads, do you know what I mean? The way that life is balanced, the way things happen, the way you often can't see what is right before your eyes, either because you don't want to, or because it blends into the woodwork, into the fabric of everything else. And even when you wonder about something, you don't stop and probe what it really means - until it's too late.

Peter blended into our woodwork, pretty well, but we didn't really realize it at the time. We were too busy being - ourselves, I guess. Living our own lives, and allowing Peter to share in them, not bothering to question why he was our friend, for who ever really stops to ask themselves that very often? Friendship just is. And we were the four Marauders, after all, we were virtually a unit - we lived and breathed and ate and slept the concept of our friendship on a daily basis. Perhaps I'm oversimplifying things. Perhaps at one time he really was our friend, and my feelings are now coloured by later events, by an overwhelming hatred for him which even now threatens to erupt. I know I shouldn't think about him, but it's impossible to think about those days without doing so, he was woven into the fabric too tightly to disengage.

When did they approach him? Who approached him? Who saw something in him that could be utilized, manipulated for bad? Was it always there, this potential for evil, and we were too young and naive to see it? Or were we possibly set up from the very beginning?

I know, I know, Remus, these are exercises in futility. It's like jumping on one of those little wheels that they have for hamsters - I've seen them in the pet shops - you run around and around and around, and you get nowhere, and finally you simply jump off again and wonder what the use of it all was. I just can't help but wonder, were there signs we missed, that had we seen them, we could have plucked him from our midst, thrown off the viper at our collective bosom, and that even now James and Lily would be alive?

Or was it already too late?

He wasn't at their wedding, which took place the summer after we left Hogwarts. Looking back, I can see he was fading from our lives already during our seventh year, but I think James and I were too... distracted... to notice - James with Lily, and me with Remus. Not excusing us, just saying. They became engaged that year, and we celebrated their engagement, the four of us, at the Shack, with firewhiskey and laughter - I think Lily would have killed us if she'd known. Some things are meant to be withheld, you know? Not from you, of course not, love, that's not what I mean. I tell you everything, I always have. Yes, you do know better, don't you?

It was a glorious wedding, well attended, by wizards and muggles alike. James and Lily were already living together by then, as were Remus and I - we were living in the flat I got with the money Uncle Alphard sent to me after I ran away from home, both of us considered blights on the Black family tree. It wasn't hard to talk Remus into moving in with me, I'll tell you the details of all that later, first the wedding.

Lily had warned us to be on our best behaviour - and by us I mean me, of course, for when is Remus ever not on his best behaviour? I solemnly promised that I would indeed behave, for after all James had made me best man - quite an honour indeed. Remus was a little hesitant about the two of us going together, because he wasn't sure how either side of the family would take our being together, you know how people were back then, actually the way some people still are. But I wouldn't have it any other way, and when it seemed we had reached something of an impasse - he suggesting perhaps I should take the maid of honour, just for appearance's sake - Lily stepped in between us and told him that our love was beautiful, as beautiful as hers and James, and she wouldn't have it any other way. She said, and I quote, "If people don't understand, or don't want to understand, then fuck them!"

Yes, she really said that. Shocking, isn't it? When ordinarily butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, nor foul words cross her dainty lips. You see, there was a great deal of that girl that people didn't see - she was no hothouse flower, no fluttering female - she was one of the strongest women I ever knew. I think, given time, she would have been a lot like Minerva. Except nicer. She really was an extraordinary woman, she and James, they were the ideal couple...

Give me a moment, please...

So we went together, Remus and I - he was indeed my date. And we all sat together at what Lily called the bridal table - a muggle tradition, she told me, which translates to the bride and groom and their best friends and their dates and their parents all put on display in front of everyone else. Not that I minded that, necessarily, I've always been a bit of a show-off. No, the word is not diva, Remus, thank you. I have to give Lily's mother credit for not fainting when we were presented to her. Lily's sister - a pasty faced skinny little thing with a walrus for a husband - lucky for him I had no inkling of his future behaviour toward my godson or I would have saved us all a great deal of trouble and hexed him to the moon right then and there - knew, of course, which of us were witches and wizards, and she always looked on the verge of fainting in case we do something to embarrass her or the family in front of her tons of fun. So, just to annoy her, I kept using my finger to make invisible marks in the air, as if I were doing some sort of a spell, and giving her significant looks. She didn't know the difference, of course, wouldn't know a real spell from a hole in the ground, perhaps she thought I had placed wards about ourselves, I don't know, but she surely kept her distance from Remus and I, and that's all I cared about.

I'll say one thing for them, the muggles do know how to drink. And the food wasn't bad either. And after they've had a few, they actually become quite amusing, and are given to performing strange dance rituals, such as the one that they called hokey pokey - something about shaking things and putting them in and out - although after a certain point in the evening, my memories grow a bit dim, so my account of these things depends on Remus for accuracy. Which is to say that I got gloriously and completely drunk on my arse - I danced with Lily, danced with her mum, even took James out on the floor, although he pushed me away, laughing, and told me to stick with Remus - which I did, of course. He and I were inseparable, and I took every opportunity I could to kiss him while we were on the dance floor, even if he pretended to be embarrassed about it. Oh yes, you did, mister, don't give me that innocent look, but I knew better, you were secretly egging me on with your voice, and with your body... I know you too well to think otherwise.

We were walking back from the reception, afterwards, basically because we needed some air, I think, and I needed to clear my head, when I proceeded to become violently ill and spewed forth the contents of my stomach all over the road. Remus never complained, nor told me I told you so - he simply held my hair back for me (yes, it wasn't the first time he'd ever done that), waited til I was done, then apparated us home, cleaned me up and put me to bed. Yes, I do mean us, don't I? We hadn't slept apart in years at that time, and never would. At least, not until...

At any rate, Peter wasn't there. He never responded to the invitation, didn't even send a gift. Nothing. If only we'd known...

One bright spot, at least Lily hadn't invited Snape. That friendship had ended long before.

In the words of the King of Siam - Remus and I watched him once, in a muggle musical, what was it called? Oh yes, the King and I. He said to the governess, "Tis a puzzlement..."

Tis a puzzlement indeed.

Oh, I did say I'd mention Hagrid, didn't I? Well, it has to wait. I do need to get back to what I was talking about in a more chronological order. Merlin, I'm still on my first year at Hogwarts, aren't I? Ah well, I'll get there, I'll get there, just be patient.


	13. A Big Bear Hug

TITLE: I, Sirius

AUTHOR: Lady Sirius

PAIRING: RL/SB

RATING: NC17

FEEDBACK:

DISCLAIMER: Of course all rights to Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling

- I only wish that Sirius and Remus were mine, other than in my heart!

DEDICATION: To my glorious, talented, wondrous and everlastingly sexy

inspiration - Gary Oldman - and to all those fans whose enthusiasm and kind words keep me going!

I, Sirius

Reflections of the Brightest Star

Chapter XIII - A Big Bear Hug

First year was hard on so many of the students, basically because it represented the first time they'd been away from their parents for any length of time, and also because it was a bit of a shock to be thrust together with so many strangers and expected to live with them day in and day out, not to mention learn how to become proper witches and wizards - no mean feat, mind you - and learn to control the magic that resided inside of them. Having said that, I myself didn't find any of that bothersome per se because I had come to expect nothing from anyone at #12 Grimmauld and quite frankly anything had to be better than what I had there, which was precious damn little. Hogwarts was bigger, brighter and freer than home, with the added advantage of being many many kilometers away from it. Granted, there were some there whose presences I could definitely dispense with, having become acquainted with their families already within my relatively short life, either through blood or social connectivity, and others whom I was learning to hate with a passion - basically because he is a slackjawed, bignosed opinionated, bastardly... What, Remus? Oh, you think they get the point, do you? Very well, moving on.

The greatest wizard that ever lived was without a doubt Albus Dumbledore. I say that without hesitation or reservation, and will brook no dissenting opinions from the peanut gallery in the matter. When he died, it was the worst tragedy to ever befall the wizarding world bar none. And I don't mean just that he was a powerful wizard, which undoubtedly he was. More powerful than that lilylivered limpwristed Voldemort - and no, by limpwristed, I do not mean he was gay, I would not insult gay people in that way. What, Remus, you say of course I wouldn't, because I am gay? Au contraire, mon frere, I am not gay, nor am I heterosexual. I am Remus-sexual, there's a difference. What's the difference, you ask? I'll show you tonight.

Where was I? Oh yes...

Albus was like the father I always wished I'd had, he was much more of one to me than Orion ever was, may his soul burn for eternity. Orion Black was a weak, spineless man, one that couldn't stand up for himself, much less his children, thought only of himself and of staying out of the way of his vicious nasty wife/cousin. If ever there were an argument against inbreeding, just look at the majority of the members of the pureblooded variety - myself not excepted - and you'll see a vast array of genetic defects, a virtual alphabet soup of deficiencies. Is it any wonder that most of them ended up sorted into the snakehouse? That house was a collecting ground for evil germs, a disgusting cesspool, a veritable cauldron of undesireable genetic traits which certainly didn't need to be combined into the resultant cacophany of dimwitted, vicious, malicious warmongers which emerged from that poisonous soup. My entire family, save for myself, was Slytherin. Voldemort was Slytherin. And of course Snivellus was Slytherin. What Lily ever saw in him was beyond me, why she ever allowed his friendship, why she... What, Remus? Pssh, man, you see good in everyone. Even me. You're too tenderhearted. A hopeless romantic. Luckily for me.

As I was saying, Albus was always good to me, even when he was chastising me - and don't think for a minute that he didn't do that, because he did. A lot. And of course, looking back at the bit of a prat that I could be, I have to admit that I deserved it, even if I didn't think so back then. But even during the worst of his lectures - you'd be surprised at some of the colourful language that man could use - I always knew it was for my own good, so I bore it. Alright, maybe I wasn't always that mature, Remus, not then. And yes, I did a lot of swearing of my own as well as carrying on - and a lot of detention. James too. I don't think there isn't any form of detention that can be thought of that we didn't serve at one time or another. Not a trophy that we didn't polish. A floor we didn't scrub. Books we didn't copy verbatim til we our fingers fairly stuck to our quills.

And if Albus was my substitute father figure, there was someone else at Hogwarts that was the big brother I never had but always wanted. What, Remus, did you really just say Slughorn? That oily sycophantic wannabe social climber? Puh-lease. I'll talk about him later, but right now I'm talking about Hagrid. Rubeus Hagrid. Gamekeeper and keeper of the keys at Hogwarts. But so much more, so very much more. He was a big man, and I'm not merely talking about size, although his physical presence was enormous, but rather I am speaking of his heart - he had the biggest heart, I think, of just about anyone I've ever known. Other than Remus. Yes, I do mean that. But Hagrid is a close second, believe me.

I had met him upon our arrival, of course, for it was his job to escort all the first years to the school, across the lake, in self-propelled boats, and I remember marvelling that his didn't tip over with the weight of him. But of course it didn't. He delivered us to McG, telling us all to be "good'uns" and favouring us with his warm smile which most of us were too frightened to return. Not me, of course. Or James. But we were the exception, rather than the rule, I think.

My first actual encounter with him, and the beginning of our relationship, comes after that. It was just a few weeks into school, I think, and things were moving along rather swimmingly. I'd had no further contact with the inhabitants of #12 Grimmauld, which neither surprised nor disheartened me - at least not directly. Slughorn pulled me aside one day to confide that my mother had sought his help in getting me reassigned to his house - did I mention that he was the head of Slytherin as well as potions master? - and that he was taking the matter to Dumbledore himself for intercession on my behalf. How I trembled to hear that, how my heart fairly stopped beating within my breast as I stumbled back to the table I shared with Remus, terrifying him in the process. He was so concerned over me that he made me sit with my head between my legs, thinking I was about to faint. Is that really the proper procedure for that, Remus? You always did know more about first aid and such than I did. Here, let's test that theory. No, I want to put my head between your legs, see if it works that way too... Ouch, now why did you slap me, was that called for?

Yes, yes, back to my point.

Once Slughorn told me that I feared for the worst, expecting every moment to receive an official missive informing me that I was to pack up and move to the dungeons. I could barely eat, and Remus seemed to share my affliction, although I'd not told him what was happening, not wishing to alarm him. But he figured it out somehow. So that the morning in question, when the mail flew in and I saw that there was indeed one for me, I was rather actually relieved to note that it was a howler, which made it unlikely to be anything sent by Albus Dumbledore. But just to be safe, I grabbed the damn thing and raced out of the Great Hall, leaving my food untouched, until I had gained the privacy of the outdoors where the screeching commenced.

_Sirius Black, can you do nothing right? I can find no other explanation for this outrage than that you are working against me, against your own family. What can you be thinking, boy? I found a way for you to redeem yourself, to repair the damage that was done when you were wrongly sorted into that lowly Gryffindor, so that your poor brother will be able to hold his head up when he too attends the school. But no, no, you cannot cooperate, even though your own potions master spoke up for you. That miserable headmaster refused to make the change, said that it would not be in your best interest. If you think the matter is done, you are sadly mistaken, and be aware that if you dare to bring any of those filthy animals you room with to this house, they will discover what lies in the lower regions of the house, and perhaps you will too..._

I was trembling by this time - a combination of outrage, relief, and pain - her caustic voice driving me to run, to run blindly, in my vain efforts to get beyond the agonizing sound, a futile attempt as I still held said missive within my hand. Heated tears stung my eyes. I was not yet completely inured against her callous indifference, her matriarchal viciousness. Somewhere inside of me I still cared - I was but eleven years old, Merlin help me - and I hurt. I hurt a great deal. Searing pains that surged through my body and forced me to move, as if by so doing I could outrun my pain. I didn't care where, I didn't care how, I simply wanted it to stop.

My headlong impetuous flight came to an abrupt halt when I slammed into something rather huge and unyielding, and my first thought was that I had hurtled myself into one of the trees in the Forbidden Forest. But that notion was neatly dispelled when a pair of arms went immediately around me, keeping me from falling backward onto my arse - no tree, not even those trees, were capable of such an act. I wiped at my eyes, hastily sniffling, attempting to regain some of my dignity as I peered up to be met with the kindly eyes of Rubeus Hagrid. If he noticed my distress, he kept it to himself, nor did he take any notice of my dangerous proximity to forbidden territory. Dumbledore had made it very clear that first years were _not_ allowed in the Forest, no exceptions. But as you'll discover, Hagrid was one to, although not break the rules, bend them just a bit, for what he considered to be a good cause.

"Sorry 'bout that," he apologized, "hope I didn't hurt you any." He began to brush his huge hands over me, as if seeking to dislodge whatever he may have inadvertently covered me with when I so negligently banged into him, but his touch was very gentle indeed.

"N-no," I gulped hastily, shaking my head, "I'm not hurt."

"Good," he said, ceasing his ministrations finally, and giving me a shrewd onceover with his intuitively cagey eyes. He looked as if there were a question upon the tip of his tongue, but he thought better of it, instead saying, "I'm in the middle of sumpin, why don't you give me a hand, you look a sturdy enough lad." And without waiting for a response, he turned and began to walk a little ways, parallel to but not entering the forest. It was then I realized that I had managed to run all the way to his own little hut.

I stood there for a minute, indecisively, before I swallowed what was left of my distress, hastening after the retreating figure of the gamekeeper, catching up with him only because he stopped in a field about a hundred yards or so beyond his hut. He put his fingers to his mouth, giving a piercing whistle that reverberated through me, and which was quickly answered by the sound of thudding feet and baying, as his boarhound, Fang, joined us there.

"There you are, you daffy dog," Hagrid muttered. I hadn't noticed before but hanging from the enormous belt which girded his rather large waist were various small cages, while hung about his neck was a shiny object upon a sort of a rope. He seemed to scan the area where he stood, why I wasn't sure, as if searching for some sort of sign. Apparently he found one, pointing out a particular spot to Fang. "There," he said, "dig there..."

The large dog began to do just that, huge paws scrabbling into the soil, burrowing in as if looking for something. I was baffled as to what that something might be, or what my purpose here might be, but it kept my mind occupied and helped me to forget my hurt. Hagrid handed me one of the cages, opening the door. It was lightweight, appeared to be made of some sort of wood or bamboo. "Here," he said, "when they come up to see what's going on, talk to them gently and let them in there..." He was preparing another cage for himself even as he spoke.

"When who do what?" I asked, confused, "what am I looking for, Hagrid?"

"Why, nifflers, o'course," he replied as if I should have known all along. "They like to burrow a bit, they do, but Fang is good at finding them, he is. When they pops their heads up to have a looksee, just talk to them, tell them that they are nice fellows and put them into the cage. Not very hard at all, not really, Sirius."

I shouldn't have been surprised to find he knew my name, it seemed that my reputation - and my family's - invariably preceded me, but I gave him an anxious look, unsure as to just what he might have heard. He returned my gaze levelly, his eyes warm and friendly, no hint of prejudice in them, no predisposed tendencies that I could discern, so I was able to relax, even as I wondered what a niffler was. I didn't remember reading anything about them in any of my textbooks. But, to be fair, I seldom opened them either, even then. So I was more than a little curious, and quite interested, my questing mind kicking in and overriding my sore heart.

At that moment, Fang began to yelp, and we turned as of one accord toward the sound of his barking. I spied several small heads - actually I saw long snouts first - sniffing cautiously before emerging from the dirt which the dog had disturbed. As I learned later nifflers live in lairs, some of which can be up to twenty feet underground. Obviously the lair which Fang had uncovered was closer to the surface than that.

I felt Hagrid nudge me, a gentle push which quickly had me down on my knees, as sometimes he does forget his own strength. "Talk to them," he encouraged me, "coax them into that there cage, Sirius."

What does one say to a creature one has never set eyes on before and of whose nature one is completely ignorant? I wished Remus was there, he would surely know what to do and say, he had an affinity with everything - human and creature. But he wasn't, and the situation was mine to deal with. So I decided simply to give it my best shot. "C'mere, Mr. Niffler, it's a lovely day for a stroll, don't you think? I have something for you, I do..." and I tentatively shook the small cage in his general direction.

The niffler, as I now took the time to discover, was black and fluffy, with shiny black eyes, and long claw-like toes. The creature sniffed the air with its long snout, or perhaps the correct term is niffled. Yes, I do believe it is. It niffled as it began to move toward me. Another nudge from Hagrid, and I hastily set the cage before it, coaxing it along with sundry remarks upon the weather, and how fine Mr. Niffler looked, until he walked into the cage with a rather pleased look at me, followed, I noted with pleased surprise, by a few of his friends.

Hagrid then removed the shiney object about his neck and waved it above the hole from which the creatures had issued, setting another cage within reach, and sure enough more of the nifflers appeared, and soon he had talked another half dozen into captivity. "There, that should do," he said with a satisfied nod, as he shut and latched the doors to both cages, taking mine from me, and hoisting both up into his strong grasp.

"You're not going to... I mean..." I began hesitantly as it occurred to me to wonder for the first time what his intentions were, and what I had just helped him to do, hoping that it was nothing harmful to the nifflers. They seemed rather friendly creatures, after all, and had given us no trouble.

As if he could read my mind, he hastily began to deny any such unspoken charge. "Oh no, no," he assured me, "these little fellers are not going to be hurt. They're going to work."

"Work?"

"Work," he chuckled, as he motioned me to move toward his hut. "Gringott's - that's the goblin bank, if ye'll recall - they place orders for them when they need them, and I send them to them. Treasure hunters, they are. Damn good ones. Attracted particularly to shiney things, they are. People with lots of jewelry should stay clear of them, though, sometimes they bite when they're overexcited."

From behind us, I could hear shouts that were obviously meant to gain our attention, familiar voices, and I glanced up to see that we were being overtaken by my three compatriots - James in the fore, because that boy invariably had to be first, Peter right behind him, and Remus serenely in the rear, a worried expression upon his face which cleared when he saw me smile and realized I was alright.

"Ah, your friends've found you," Hagrid murmured, "good, good. Come, gentlemen," as they drew nearer, "how about some tea?" And he ushered us into his hut, setting the cages onto the table which fairly dominated the room, where we could both admire and communicate with the inhabitants while he put on the kettle, and Fang settled down on the floor near us, taking a nap.

And that, as they say, was the start of a beautiful friendship.

There were many such times, good times, to be had there in that little hut, with that most compassionate man. He never judged, never censured, never complained. He enjoyed his job, loved the school, and thought the world of Albus Dumbledore. It almost killed him when Albus died...

Hang on, give me a minute.

Damn, I hate when I do that. Must be allergies. Yes, allergies, Remus, never heard of them? What do you mean, what do I mean? Making my bloody eyes water so. Yes, thank you, I would appreciate that handkerchief, love, you're very thoughtful. Was that the door? I thought I heard something.

Oh bloody hell, woman, do you have to make an entrance like that, have you never learned to walk properly? What? Well, no, I guess I haven't, have I?

I've just been reminded that I've completely left out all mention of someone who _claims_ to have played a major part in the story of my life. Be reasonable, I'm still on my first year, you're not even born yet. Yes, I know I've skipped around a bit. A little. At times. No, no, no! Do NOT jump in my lap...

NYMPHADORA! What the bloody hell have you been eating? I feel like I'm holding an elephant. Alright, alright... Next chapter, I promise. Yes, coming attractions - lo and behold, I'll give you the story of Nymphadora Tonks.

Dammit, you didn't have to hit me like that. Remus, stop laughing.


End file.
